


Parting Gift

by menel



Series: The "Image" Arc [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 14:38:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new lovers, Legolas and Eldarion, travel to Lothlórien to help Haldir and the remaining Lórien Elves in their preparations to go over Sea, but they encounter unseen obstacles including an ancient darkness that has found its way into the Golden Wood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shadows in Lothlórien

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the bane of my fanfiction existence. I began writing it immediately after finishing "In Your Image" (the central story of this arc) and it has the dubious honor of being my first (and longest-running) WIP. I've held onto this fic for years and posting it now is tantamount to saying, 'I give up.' 
> 
> But I don't want to say that. This fic remains one of the best things I've ever written, in _any_ fandom. It deserves to be finished. I just don't know when I will pick this up again. I caution you now: Read this AT YOUR OWN RISK. The 'ending' is simply a killer. 
> 
> Special thanks goes to Panthera for her speedy and efficient beta.

The afternoon’s fading light went unnoticed by the Prince of Gondor as he stood beneath the golden eaves amidst a circle of towering mallorn trees. 

“Fair Lothlórien,” he said aloud, “how I wish the glory of spring bloomed around me. For though the leaves do not fall and the autumn trees remain arrayed in gold, I regret the passing of spring and its wonders which I may only learn of through Elven song.” 

Eldarion sighed to himself as he stroked the gray bark of a mallorn tree. The bark was smooth to the touch and glowed faintly, like liquid silver in the waning light. The trees themselves seemed to sigh in commiseration. The Prince walked towards the center of the circle, where the greatest of the mallorn trees stood. Beside it hung a gray rope ladder that lead to the gleaming white flet high in its branches. Instinctively, Eldarion grasped the deceptively light rope and quickly climbed to the flet. He knew that Legolas would be arriving soon and thought he would be able to spy the Elf from this high vantage point. 

The mound of Cerin Amroth had become a regular meeting place for the two lovers. Ever since Legolas had shown the Prince the place where his parents had pledge their troth to one another, Eldarion could feel the magic present at the heart of the ancient realm. Although it was located outside the bounds of the great Elven city, it was not so far that they would be unable to return before nightfall. It had also proven to be surprisingly conducive to Quenya lessons, which was the Prince’s reason for waiting there now. 

Voices drifted to him from below and Eldarion looked over the edge of the white flet. Two Elves had arrived at the open space surrounding the mound and had laid their belongings on the green sward of grass. One of the Elves also lay down amid the golden elanor, while his companion sat beside him. Upon closer inspection, Eldarion recognized them to be Rúmil and Orophin, the brothers of Haldir. The Prince involuntarily crouched low, thankful for the gray Lórien cloak the Elves had given him, which would seamlessly blend into the wood’s surroundings. He did not wish to be seen by the brothers.

Eldarion had soon discovered upon his arrival that not all Elves approved of his relationship with one of their kin. Some believed it to be nothing more than a passing fancy on both their parts. Others were merely mystified or thought the two Princes to be irresponsible. Still, others gave it not a second thought. However, Eldarion was a guest of the Guardian of the Wood and Haldir had made it clear that he was to be treated with respect and courtesy at all times. Indeed, most of the Elves had been quite welcoming and non-judgmental in their actions towards him, but some were less welcoming than others and Haldir’s own brothers happened to fall into the latter category. 

The Prince surreptitiously leaned over the edge of the flet, believing that he was too high up for the Elves to see him unless he was standing. They were laughing and joking with each other and although some distance was between the Prince and his object of interest, his keen hearing could just pick up snatches of their conversation as it was carried by the wind. 

“I would have loved to have seen the look on his face!” Orophin said in between laughs. 

“Brother, I tell you it was priceless!” Rúmil concurred. 

“A devilish trick.”

“Perhaps one we could try on another unsuspecting victim? Say, a certain mortal Prince?”

Orophin’s smile faded. “Haldir would not approve,” he said seriously.

“Haldir does not have to know,” Rúmil replied, stretching himself on the grass. 

Orophin remained silent for a while. “Why do you dislike him so?” he asked at last. “He has never done anything to you. It is most unlike you to be so unfriendly to an honored guest.”

“He may be an honored guest, but we are leaving these lands. I care not what he thinks about my actions.” 

“Just because we are leaving these lands does not mean that we do not bear the consequences of our actions. They may follow you over Sea, Rúmil,” his brother warned. 

Rúmil merely scoffed. “Orophin, always attempting to be the mediator.” He waggled a slender finger at the other Elf. “I have been civil to the Prince. It is _you_ that has not.” 

Orophin’s cheeks flushed at the memory. “ _That_ was an accident,” he defended himself, “which I apologized sincerely for.” 

“If you say so,” Rúmil said casually with a wave of his hand. “That accident has put a strain on your relationship with him. He will have nothing to do with you now and in that sense, you are no better off than me!” 

Rúmil laughed wickedly at his own analysis, his laughter sounding like tinkling bells to Eldarion’s ears. The man leaned further over the flet as Orophin’s voice dropped to a whisper. But his efforts to catch the Elf’s words were thwarted as the wind blew this crucial part of the conversation in the opposite direction. 

“I would make amends for it,” Orophin said softly. “I confess that I do not understand his relationship with Legolas,” the Elf continued. “But Legolas has always been more open-minded in these matters and Haldir is accepting of it, though it must cause him pain.” He paused. “I wish to understand,” he said slowly, “and will make every effort to do so before I leave these shores.”

Rúmil looked at his brother carefully before standing up. “Do what you believe is right and I shall as well.” He reached out a hand to assist his brother. “Evening approaches and the pangs of hunger are calling me. Let us go home.” 

Orophin accepted the hand proffered to him and allowed himself to be pulled up. The Prince watched as the two Elves picked up their belongings and walked in the direction of the great Elven city. He knew that he would mostly likely see them later that evening during supper. He sat back and released a breath that he did not know he had been holding. His forearms ached slightly from bearing the weight of his crouching position. The Prince pondered what he had heard of the brothers’ conversation and came to the conclusion that the dislike both groups had for one another was indeed mutual. 

Eldarion was still lost in thought when a voice he had been waiting for startled him.

“Admiring the view?”

“It never ceases to amaze me,” the Man replied automatically. He waited as the Elf came to stand behind him, though he heard no footsteps.

“Somehow, I think there is something more interesting below than just the view,” Legolas said, leaning over his lover to get a better look. “Who are you watching?” 

“No one,” Eldarion answered quickly. He stood up and turned around, pushing the Elf away from the flet’s edge. “There is no one there.” 

“There is no one there _now_ ,” Legolas corrected. He arched a questioning eyebrow. 

The young man sighed. Like his father, he would never be able to lie to the Elf. “Orophin and Rúmil were resting in the field below.” 

“Ah, so the brothers have returned from East Lórien,” Legolas said with a smile. “Haldir will be pleased to see them.” 

“Yes, I suppose he will,” Eldarion said disinterestedly. 

“But you are not so pleased?” the Elf prodded. 

The Prince shrugged in a non-committal manner. “It matters not to me. I have not seen the brothers since their decision to visit East Lórien. Besides,” he added, “we shall all be departing soon. Do you wish to sail with the Elves to the Bay of Belfalas? Or would that not be advisable?” he asked, suddenly remembering the effect the sea-longing had on his lover. 

Legolas smiled at the Prince’s subtle evasion of the subject. “I shall manage,” he answered, “especially with you and Gimli to help me.” He paused. “I would like to accompany the Elves to the Bay of Belfalas. I believe Haldir has made plans with Imrahil. The Prince of Dol Amroth will be expecting us.” 

“I see.” Eldarion moved to the center of the flet and sat down cross-legged. 

“But returning to Rúmil and Orophin,” Legolas said, not wishing to drop the subject as he sat behind the Prince, who naturally enfolded himself in the Elf’s embrace. “I sense that you are not at ease with them.” 

“Perhaps it is they who are not at ease with me,” the Man replied. Speaking of the brothers was beginning to agitate him and he did not wish to be agitated. Not when another beautiful day was drawing to a close and the gentle breeze blew the golden leaves, nor when the larks sang as they flew by the secluded lovers. 

Sensing this, Legolas began to nuzzle the young man’s neck, gently kissing the tender skin as he spoke in the Elven tongue. 

“They do not understand you,” he said as the Prince rested his head on the Elf’s shoulder, giving Legolas better access to the sensitive area between jaw and collarbone. “They do not understand us. Be more tolerant of them, Eldarion.” 

“As you wish,” the Man sighed. He turned his head to meet the Elf’s kiss and Quenya lessons were soon forgotten.

~*~*~*~

Dinner that night was once again a light affair. As the day for departure drew nearer, more and more belongings were packed, ready to be transported to the great white ships that were anchored at the hythe by the river Anduin. The cooks were starting to complain about their lack of utensils, but Eldarion thought that their cooking had hardly suffered for it. Elven fare was lighter than the meals prepared at the White Tower, but the human found them to be quite filling and delicious.

The city of Caras Galadhon never failed to amaze the young Prince. He saw new marvels wherever he looked, yet he could also feel the immense sadness that washed over it from time to time. He often wondered what it had been like before, when the Galadhrim had populated every tree and bough, and their songs and voices would fill the air like stars falling from heaven. The Galadhrim were singing now and their sweet voices blended with the wind as the Prince walked on the pathways amidst the great trees. He enjoyed stretching his legs after dinner, believing the slight exercise aided in digestion. Although Gimli thought his idea had merit, the Dwarf abhorred the numerous pathways and staircases one had to climb in Caras Galadhon, believing them to be most unsuitable for one of his stature. “It is no wonder the Elves built their city in the trees,” he had told Eldarion one day. “They knew that such a deterrence would keep the Dwarves away!” But despite his harsh words, the Prince knew that the Dwarf loved the Elven city dearly and could feel its fading acutely in his heart.

It was only after many jests and the finalizing of plans for the following day that the Prince had been able to leave his companions, Hrethil and Gimli, in the spacious hall where the Elves liked to gather after dinner for song and merriment, in search of Legolas. Hrethil had taken an instant liking to the human, his admiration for the Prince aided by the young man’s mastery of the bow and arrow at the archery competition nearly two months ago at Minas Tirith. The two had been grouped together during the elimination rounds and it had been Eldarion’s accurate eye that had prevented the Lórien Elf from becoming one of the finalists. The Prince had gone on to win the competition to the great surprise of nearly all present, besting the Captain of King Thranduil’s Royal Guard. Although their friendship had sprung from their mutual love of bow and arrow, the Man and the Elf soon discovered that they shared a great deal in common. For Hrethil, despite far exceeding the Man in years was barely more than an elfling in his people’s eyes. 

Upon hearing that Eldarion had yet to visit the fair falls of Nimrodel, Hrethil insisted that they go on an outing the following day. 

“You must see and hear the falls of Nimrodel before you leave these woods,” the Elf had said emphatically. “It is an experience not to be missed. To soothe your feet in its healing waters, while the voice of Nimrodel carries over the falls . . .” he sighed. “You will never experience such peace.” 

Gimli had concurred, the very idea of walking on solid ground greatly appealing to him. 

It had not taken long to persuade the Prince, who never grew tired of exploring the Golden Wood. It was decided that they would leave shortly after breakfast. It was a fairly long trek to Nimrodel, but Hrethil estimated that they would arrive at the falls a little after noon. 

“Just in time for lunch,” the Elf had laughed. “And I can think of no better place to have it.” 

Eldarion had excused himself to find Legolas. He did not know the Elf’s plans for the next day, but he was hoping that the Elven Prince would be able to join them. An excursion to Nimrodel would not be complete without his lover. 

The Man’s steps slowed as he reached the end of the delicate hanging bridge. Below him, by the magnificent fountain at the center of the wide lawn, he found Legolas in quiet conversation with Haldir. The Prince’s brow furrowed as that unwelcome feeling crept into him again. Though he wished to look away, he could not tear his eyes from the sight in front of him. The Elves seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight, their light silken clothes illuminated by the hanging lamps surrounding the fountain. They were so beautiful, so perfect together. 

Finally, the Prince did look away. Confusion clouded his mind when he thought of Legolas’s relationship with Haldir. Clearly they shared a bond of the deepest friendship, which they had had millennia to cultivate. The human felt as though he could not even compete. He knew what Legolas would say to such a comment. _You are imagining it, my love. There is no competition going on between you and Haldir_ , he would assure the Prince. 

But there was. Eldarion could sense it implicitly in every word and every gesture. Haldir shone as bright as the star of Eärendil in his eye, an image of perfection that he could only hope to attain. How odd that he had once feared that he would remain a shadow of his father in Legolas’s eyes. He could not have been more wrong. In the King’s place, the Guardian’s shadow now towered over him. Eldarion was certain that there was more than friendship between the two Elves, though he had not the courage to confront Legolas with his questions. The Guardian and the Elven Prince had been lovers once. Were they lovers still? The evident intimacy between them was there for all to see. 

The Prince drove these unpleasant thoughts from his mind. What was wrong with him? He trusted Legolas completely. Jealousy was a most unbecoming trait. He would not fall victim to its clutches. With a deep breath, he descended the narrow staircase to the lawn below and strode across its wide expanse to join the two Elves. 

Haldir smiled at him welcomingly as the Prince discreetly slipped his arm around Legolas’s slender waist. _A purely possessive gesture_ , the Guardian thought to himself. Legolas also gifted his lover with a welcoming smile as his own arm automatically slipped around the man’s waist in return. 

Eldarion acknowledged both Elves with a friendly nod, choosing to remain silent and listen to their conversation. They were also discussing their plans for the following day. Apparently the Elves would begin transporting their belongings to the ships tomorrow. The whole process would take several days, but Haldir estimated that they would be ready to sail in about a week.

“What about you, young Prince?” the Guardian asked suddenly, turning his attention to the human. “Do you have any plans for tomorrow?” 

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Eldarion replied as casually as he could manage. He could feel Legolas watching him and he turned to look at the Elf. “Hrethil, Gimli and I have decided to visit the falls of Nimrodel. Hrethil insists that I cannot leave Lothlórien without seeing the fair falls.”

“He is correct, of course,” Haldir agreed. 

Eldarion nodded, turning his attention back to Legolas. “I was hoping that you could join us,” he said. 

“It would be my pleasure,” Legolas replied, but then paused and looked at Haldir. “But I fear I have already made a previous commitment. I promised to assist Haldir in directing the transportation of goods tomorrow.”

The Guardian was shaking his head. “It is fine, Legolas,” he began, “we shall be able to manage without you. Go and see the falls of Nimrodel. I believe it has also been some time since your last visit.”

“I have never been one to go back on my word,” Legolas replied. “You said my help was required.”

“And Haldir shall receive it,” the Prince interrupted, somewhat forcefully. Both Elves looked at him in surprise. “Ensuring that all runs smoothly tomorrow is far more important than a little excursion to a falls. Who is to say that Legolas and I shall not return to Nimrodel one day? Our future lies before us, while your time together grows short.”

Eldarion smiled at them reassuringly, hardly believing the words that had just left his lips. _How can I be so generous when my heart screams to have him by my side?_ the Prince wondered. _Once again I find myself competing with the Guardian, whether I wish to or not._

Haldir studied the Prince for a moment before turning his gray eyes to Legolas.

“It appears it is settled then,” he said in his measured voice. “I will leave you two now. I must still see others about tomorrow’s plans.” 

“ _Mae govannen, meleth-nin_ [1],” Legolas said softly when Haldir took his leave. He pulled the Prince in front of him, wrapping his other arm around the man’s waist as the Prince did the same.

Eldarion shrugged slightly. “I would not have you break your word,” he said matter-of-factly. “And I said naught but the truth. Who is to say that we will not visit Nimrodel again one day?”

“Who indeed?” the Elf agreed. 

“Still,” the Prince said deliberately with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I believe I deserve some sort of recompense for my generosity.”

“And what sort of recompense did you have in mind?”

“A kiss.”

“That is easy enough to manage.” 

A fey smile was on Legolas’s face as he leaned in and gave the Prince a chaste kiss on the lips. The scowl that crossed his lover’s face was just the reaction the Elf expected when he pulled away. 

“That was _not_ what I meant,” Eldarion told him crossly. “Kiss me,” he demanded. 

Legolas leaned in once more and pressed his lips against the Man’s. Gently at first, then with more pressure. His tongue darted out, coaxing entrance. Eldarion welcomed it without hesitation, seizing control of the kiss as he pulled the Elf closer to him. The kiss was passionate but bruising and it spoke volumes to Legolas. He could detect the undercurrent of urgency behind it and silently wondered at its cause. 

When at last they broke for air, Eldarion whispered into a pointed ear, “I shall claim the rest of my recompense behind closed doors,” deftly licking the delicate tip to emphasize his point. 

Legolas shivered faintly at the touch, prying himself loose from the strong arms. With a smile that promised more to come, he took the Prince’s hand and led them to their chambers.

~*~*~*~

Later that night, Legolas watched his sleeping lover with worried eyes. A change had come over Eldarion during their stay in Lothlórien. The Elf did not know what to make of it, nor the root of its cause. The man had become a study in changing mood swings and polar opposites. While completely at ease with the likes of Gimli and Hrethil, he became cool and distant around others whom he was not so comfortable with. Legolas had seen for himself how the defensive walls would rise around the Prince during those occasions, protecting and cushioning him from the events that took place. Dear Gimli had noticed as well, commenting to Legolas that Eldarion was picking up the Elf’s more undesirable traits. The Dwarf’s exact words had been, “I had hoped that Eldarion would thaw _your_ mask of ice, but it appears that your emotional freeze is contagious. I do not like it.”

The Elf was inclined to agree. He found these subtle changes in his lover disturbing. They had even crept into the bedroom, where at times, their lovemaking felt like a battle of wills, almost a nightly contest for dominance. While Legolas did not mind rough play – indeed, he rather enjoyed the pain and saw much possibility in this new side to Eldarion – it was still disconcerting, particularly the Man’s contrite reaction afterwards, when he would whisper hushed apologies for his roughness, not knowing what had come over him.

While it was true that their relationship had received a mixed response among the Lórien Elves, most of them had been understanding of it. Legolas could not attribute Eldarion’s mysterious behavior solely to that reason, for the Man had also made quite a few friends among the Eldar. No, there was a deeper cause and Legolas knew whom he would turn to for advice, one that had supported him for millennia. He would ask Haldir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:   
> 1\. "Mae govannen, meleth-nin." - "Well met, my love."


	2. By the Falls of Nimrodel

Eldarion stood outside the Dwarf’s chamber and knocked loudly. Despite his enthusiasm the night before, Gimli had never been known for his early rising habits. 

“During the Quest,” Legolas had told him, “Gimli would sleep like the dead. He was the only one among us who could fall asleep at any time and at any place. His snoring alone would have kept the Orcs at bay.” 

Eldarion had laughed at his lover’s description, but had no doubt that quite a bit of truth lay behind it. Gimli’s snoring was infamous. Even his father had commented on it. The Prince chuckled to himself as he continued to rap on the door. 

“Gimli?” he called. “We shall have to wolf our breakfast if you delay us any longer!”

The Man listened as the Dwarf’s heavy footsteps came towards him and the door was suddenly flung open.

“Wolf our breakfast?” Gimli bellowed disbelievingly. “Dwarves do not _wolf_. I did not think Princes’ _wolfed_ either.”

“Well, one must rise to the occasion,” the youth replied with a grin. Too much time spent with Legolas and Gimli had ensured that the Prince had also become adept at their light banter. 

The Dwarf glowered in response. He had woken up in a foul mood, thanks to the obscene hour the three of them had agreed to depart the previous eve. He was about to storm past the Prince when a slight cough from the Man stopped him. He looked up at the human who was discreetly pointing at the Dwarf’s mail shirt. Puzzled, Gimli looked down and discovered that he was wearing his mail shirt backwards!

Dwarvish curses filled the air as Eldarion followed his short companion to the breakfast hall, while Gimli adjusted his shirt along the way, refusing to accept any help from the Man.

The two friends entered the airy breakfast hall a few moments later. Sunlight was beginning to stream through the windows, casting a light glow on the elegantly carved tables and chairs. Eldarion walked among the numerous tables still marveling at the architecture of the Elven city. The breakfast hall was as wide and as long as any the Prince had seen built by men upon the ground. Yet, in Caras Galadhon, the trees were so great that such halls and houses, which were fit for the noblest of men, sat easily amidst the enveloping branches of the mallorn trees. The very structure of the Elven buildings ensured that the trees remained completely unharmed. Eldarion was reminded of this as he walked by one of the thick branches that went through the hall. 

The Man and the Dwarf made their way through the hall to where they could see Hrethil sitting at a table with two other Elves. With their identical golden manes and their backs to the Prince, Eldarion could not tell who Hrethil’s companions were. Hrethil smiled and lifted his hand in greeting when he saw his friends approach. Eldarion returned the wave, but the smile on his face fell slightly when one of the Elves turned around. 

“Good morning, Eldarion,” Rúmil said warmly. “And a good morning to you too, Gimli son of Glóin. I am impressed by your assiduous rising habits. They are befitting an Elf.” 

“Why, thank you, Rúmil,” Gimli replied graciously as he sat down. “I, too, am impressed to see you here at such an early hour. At last you are showing signs of your Elvish heritage.”

Rúmil bit back a cutting reply, instead turning his attention to the Man beside the Dwarf. 

“Eldarion,” he said, addressing the Prince. “Have you met Narwarán?” he asked, indicating his Elven companion. 

“No,” the Prince answered. “We have not had the pleasure.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Narwarán said, extending his hand in what he knew to be the customary greeting among humans. 

Eldarion shook the Elf’s hand trying to place any prejudices aside. Narwarán’s eyes were bright and friendly, his handshake warm and reassuring. The Elf had a soothing presence about him and he made Eldarion feel a little more at ease, despite being in the company of Rúmil.

“It is fortunate that I _am_ an early riser,” Narwarán continued, effortlessly erasing the slight tension created from Rúmil and Gimli’s exchange, “for I encountered Hrethil upon stepping out of my chamber this morning and he told me of your planned excursion to Nimrodel today. I must admit, I was quite excited to hear about it, for I too would like to visit the fair falls one last time before I leave these lands.” He paused and looked at the Prince carefully, as though he were hoping for some sort of response. 

“You are most welcome to join us,” Eldarion said, knowing that the offer was sincere the moment it left his lips. It was with some dismay that the Prince realized that etiquette required him to make the same offer to Narwarán’s companion. “As are you, Rúmil,” he added, with a forced smile. 

Rúmil’s own silken smile grew wider as he also accepted the Prince’s offer. 

“Well,” he said as he stood up. “Narwarán and I must pack some belongings for the day’s journey. Shall we meet you by the fountain in half an hour?”

“Half an hour it is,” Eldarion said firmly. He visibly relaxed once the Elves departed and noticed that Hrethil was looking at him with some concern. 

“I am sorry for putting you in such a position,” the Elf said hurriedly, “but Narwarán is a dear and trustworthy friend. I did not think you would mind. . .”

“It’s all right, Hrethil,” the Prince assured his friend. “I do not mind.”

The Elf still looked unhappy. “Rúmil was a surprise,” he said bluntly, knowing the Prince’s feelings towards the Guardian’s brother, as well as Rúmil’s own mischievous nature. But then his face brightened. “Do not worry. Narwarán and I shall keep him in line.”

“And if you don’t,” the Dwarf spoke up in between mouthfuls of bread, “I shall be there to exercise some Dwarven diplomacy.” 

Eldarion laughed, knowing that Dwarven diplomacy often involved the brandishing of an axe.

~*~*~*~

Half an hour later the five companions set out from the Elven city. By now, the sun was high in the sky and the warmth from her rays was a welcome contrast to the cool, crisp autumn air. A deep fosse surrounded the city of Caras Galadhon and around its great green walls the travelers walked along the outer road paved with white stones. They headed from the city’s southern gates to the north, where the falls of Nimrodel lay.

For the most part they walked in silence, enjoying the sounds of nature. Even Gimli had discovered that he could appreciate the lovely trill of a bird among the trees. The path through the wood was smooth and unfettered, allowing Hrethil, the designated leader of their expedition, to set a brisk but manageable pace. Behind him came the Man and the Dwarf, with Rúmil and Narwarán bringing up the rear. 

By mid-morning they had reached the fast-flowing Celebrant. Gimli looked at the river skeptically, remembering a time when he had been forced to cross it with the aid of two ropes as a makeshift bridge. 

“We no longer have makeshift bridges,” Narwarán reassured him. “Since the defeat of The Enemy, it was decided that it was safe enough to build a proper bridge once more,” he explained as the company crossed the aforementioned bridge. 

“Ah, but what Narwarán does not tell you, in all his modesty,” Rúmil added, “is that he happens to be the one responsible for the construction of the bridge.”

Narwarán blushed at the other Elf’s revelation. “It is true,” he admitted shyly. “My skill lies not so much with weapons and war, but with engineering and architecture. I love to build and create things.”

“It is a fine bridge,” Gimli commented, when they had reached the other side, “sturdy and strong with all the hallmarks of Elvish craftsmanship and beauty.”

Narwarán appeared to look at the Dwarf with new eyes. “You are truly worthy of your name as Elf-friend, Master Dwarf,” he said admiringly, “for few have praised the bridge with such eloquence and heartfelt words.”

“I merely state what I see,” Gimli said, though their unspoken exchange of smiles had surely forged a new friendship. 

“Well, this is a good place for a short rest,” Hrethil told the others as he put down his small pack. “We have just left the Naith of Lórien,” he explained to Eldarion, as the others also settled down on the west bank of Celebrant.

“The Naith?” the Prince repeated, pulling out his flask of water and taking a refreshing drink.

“The Naith is the land that lies like a spearhead between the arms of Celebrant, or Silverlode as it is known to your people, and the great river Anduin. During the rise of the Shadow, few strangers were allowed to enter the Naith. This area was heavily guarded by many unseen patrols.”

“Aye,” Gimli agreed. “The tales told among my people was that Lórien was a secret place of terrible hidden power. Many feared to cross its boundaries, for we believed that the enchantress of the Golden Wood would bewitch all who looked upon her, so that under her spell, none would ever be heard from again.” Gimli laughed suddenly. “Of course, those tales were true!” he exclaimed. “In their own way. For you see, when I met the Lady Galadriel, she enchanted me with her beauty, compassion and wisdom, and I knew then that no evil or stain lay upon Lórien, save for that brought by those from the outside world.”

All fell into silent reflection at the Dwarf’s words until, at length, Hrethil spoke again.

“It saddens my heart to leave these woods which have been my only home,” he said. “But nor could I bear to stay among these golden eaves and watch the glory of Lothlórien fade into the dusk of its twilight hour. For you are right, Master Dwarf,” he said heavily, “that no evil or stain lay upon Lórien during the time of the Lord and the Lady. But now that she has gone West, we have diminished in her wake. Where once ancient things lived and breathed among us, all we have left now are their memories, which in time shall also be forgotten, for we live in a vanishing world.”

“Enough!” Rúmil cried. “Would you have us all wallowing in the depths of depression before we reach Nimrodel?” he accused Hrethil. “That is hardly the greeting I envisioned for the lovely falls.”

Hrethil grinned sheepishly. “You are right, Rúmil,” he said. “Forgive me, everyone,” he apologized as he stood up. “My thoughts grow darker and my heart is torn as the day for departure draws near. But now is not the time for that,” he reprimanded himself. “It is a glorious day. Let our hearts be light and our conversation merry.”

“And let us be off!” Rúmil declared, slinging his light pack once more. He did not like to dwell on serious matters that cut deeply inside. For Rúmil, despite his playful tricks and jokes, was also leaving Lothlórien with a heavy heart. 

The other companions stood up and followed suit, and the company headed into the woods once more.

~*~*~*~

Eldarion fell into an easy step beside Narwarán as they walked, and the Man and Elf found themselves discussing the differences in architecture between Minas Tirith and Lothlórien. The Elf held a great admiration for the White City and its many tiered levels. Each level was constructed in such a way that should it be breached during times of war, the next level would be able to hold the line of defense.

“A true melding of architectural beauty and strategic design,” Narwarán had complimented. 

The Prince thanked the Elf in return, feeling pride in his beautiful city. But he was most curious to learn about the other Elven kingdoms. Were they the same as Lothlórien? 

Narwarán had laughed at the question, but his laughter was gentle, not one of reproach. Each Elven kingdom was different, the Elf explained. Not only in style and architecture, but also in the temperament of its people. He went on to describe the hidden valley of Imladris, with its sweeping archways and lush gardens. Rivendell had once been a safe haven for all the races, where one came to seek shelter and protection. It was the most cosmopolitan and free-thinking of the Elven kingdoms. By contrast, Lothlórien was the most traditional in both mind and custom. 

“And what of Greenwood?” Eldarion asked, his curiosity overcoming him. 

“Greenwood the Great,” Narwarán repeated, with a thoughtful half-smile. “I have always had immense respect for the Wood Elves,” he said, “although some of my kin have looked down upon them as a crude and rustic race. They have survived for millennia on the merit of their own skill and resources without the power of an Elven ring to protect and sustain them. It is no wonder then,” he continued, “that in our twilight years, their kingdom still flourishes in the deepest part of the forest. Although some may judge Thranduil harshly, none can deny that he has always had the best interests of his people at heart.” 

“He is a force to be reckoned with,” Eldarion said, more to himself than to the Elf walking beside him. 

“That he is,” Narwarán agreed. “But you shall face him with courage and you will not be alone,” he added with a sideways reference to the Man’s relationship with Legolas. 

The Prince smiled and nodded his head, but chose to remain silent. 

“I have strayed from the topic,” Narwarán said lightly, “for we were discussing Elven architecture and the kingdom of Thranduil is a fascinating city indeed, for it is crafted almost entirely from stone.” 

“Stone?” Eldarion repeated in surprise. 

“Yes,” Narwarán answered. “Their city is well-concealed upon the ground. The Silvan Elves love their great trees so much that they constructed their city in the earth in great caverns and halls made of living stone.” 

“In the earth? But I thought Elves did not like dark places.” 

“That is all perfectly true,” Narwarán assured him. “But Thranduil’s palace is not some dark cavern in the ground. Although one enters through hidden torch-lit passageways, one emerges into fresh clean air and a starry night, for the city is not very deep.” The Elf paused in his effort to make the human understand. “It is spacious and sprawling and one feels as though they are living within Mother Nature herself. Everything is alive.” Narwarán looked up to see the Man’s slightly puzzled expression. “It is difficult to explain to one who has not seen it,” he said at last. “But I am sure Legolas will have you journey there with him.” 

“Yes,” the Prince agreed, wondering when that day would be. 

“Do you hear that?” Narwarán asked suddenly, grasping the Man’s arm. They both stopped to listen. 

“It sounds like singing,” Eldarion said. 

“It is the voice of Nimrodel!” Hrethil called excitedly from the front. “Here, by our left,” he said, gesturing with his hands, “is the stream of Nimrodel. We shall follow its course and it will lead us directly to the falls. Come!” he called once more. “Soon we shall rest and soothe our tired feet in Nimrodel’s healing water.” 

The company picked up their pace as their goal drew nearer and soon they were resting their feet in the clear, cool water of Nimrodel. Eldarion had taken a moment to admire the beauty of the falls when they first came into view. They were not as grand or majestic as the Falls of Rauros, but that was to be expected, for Nimrodel was but a tiny stream compared to the great river Anduin. Still, Nimrodel had its own quiet majesty and the rainbow that fell on its cascading water drew the travelers in with its beauty. But most importantly, the voice of Nimrodel could be heard singing sweetly in the gentle rush of water. 

It was by the falls of Nimrodel that the company took their lunch with much laughter and light conversation. It was just as Hrethil had described and Eldarion could feel the peace and music of the falls infusing him. Sated and content, the Man rested his back against the broad trunk of a tree. 

After a short rest, Gimli decided to exercise the Prince’s habit of taking a walk at the end of a meal. Hrethil decided to join the Dwarf, and the two went off in search of “unusual rock formations” that Hrethil believed were near the falls. The Prince chose to remain behind, enjoying the voice of Nimrodel, which was gently lulling him to sleep. Narwarán was near the Man, sketching on a piece of parchment that he had pulled out from his pack. Rúmil lay upon a large, flat moss-covered rock near the bank of the stream, watching his two remaining companions with interest. In his hand, he absently twirled a golden elanor flower. Things had become too quiet for his liking, and in the tranquil mid-afternoon, another wicked plan was beginning to form in his mind. He shifted restlessly on his side and propped his head on his left hand, his eyes never leaving the relaxed form of the Prince. 

“Princeling!” he called out. 

Eldarion’s eyes fluttered open. 

“Are you in the mood for some sport?” 

“What sort of sport?” the Prince asked warily. 

“Well,” Rúmil began thoughtfully, “I have heard of your exceptional skills as a warrior. And I have seen for myself your mastery of our craft. You must truly take after your father. Perhaps you would do me the honor of some friendly sparring?” 

“What would we spar with?” Eldarion asked carefully, “for although I have my sword, I believe that you have not brought one with you.” 

“That is true,” the Elf replied, nodding his head. “But I am never without my long blades and the same is true of Narwarán, who, I’m sure, would be more than happy to lend his pair to you.” Rúmil looked at the other Elf for confirmation. 

A look of distress was starting to creep into Narwarán’s eyes. He did not like the sound of this challenge. But before he could speak, Eldarion stood up and strode over to him. 

“Would you lend me your blades?” he asked the Elf. 

“Eldarion–” Narwarán began, but the Prince cut him off. 

“I will take very good care of them,” the Man said, and dropping his voice, added, “and will ensure that our friendly sparring does not go too far.” 

Narwarán consented, but it was still with great misgivings that he pulled out his twin blades and handed them to the mortal Prince. 

Eldarion turned the finely crafted blades in his hands, adjusting to their size and weight. They were lighter than he had anticipated, but the edges gleamed silver in the sunlight, leaving no doubt as to the keenness of their cut. When the Man turned around, Rúmil had already slipped off his rock and had picked up his own Elvish blades. 

The two opponents stood circling one another by the bank of Nimrodel. Eldarion knew that he was already at a disadvantage for he was not accustomed to this manner of fighting, however his own pride had refused to back down in the face of this arrogant and presumptuous Elf. With grim determination he sought to remember the times he had seen Legolas fight with expert ease using his own twin blades and adapt that style of fighting to his own. 

In a sudden swift movement, Rúmil made the first move. The Prince was taken by surprise, but was just quick enough to deflect the blow and launch his own strike. The light-footed Elf danced away, expecting the reaction. The two competitors proved to be well matched. The Elf’s speed and experience was offset by the Man’s quick analysis of any given situation and his adaptation of the Elf’s own fighting methods. 

By the trunk of a mallorn tree Narwarán stood and watched the fight with growing concern. This was clearly more than a game to both competitors, and although no blood had yet been drawn, it was only a matter of time. The two adversaries were beginning to perspire from their exertions, and just as Narwarán thought the Prince would be the first to fade, a slicing arc from one of the Man’s blades cut the Elf on the arm. 

Eldarion looked at the Elf in complete shock as Rúmil clutched the bleeding gash on his arm. 

“I’m sorry!” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to– ”

The Prince did not have a chance to finish his explanation for Rúmil lost all control and dived into the Man, his combined weight and velocity pinning the larger human onto the ground. A savage gleam was in his eye as he held the sharpened blade to the Prince’s throat, just deep enough to draw a trickle of blood. 

“Stop! Stop it!” Narwarán cried as he rushed forward. He was vaguely aware of heavy footsteps behind him as a panting Gimli burst through the foliage, following the swift-footed Hrethil. 

“What is happening here?” Hrethil demanded. 

“Rúmil, please put the knife down,” Narwarán pleaded, kneeling beside the outraged Elf. “You have both gone too far. This must end. Now.” 

Rúmil looked at his Elven companion, the flash in his eyes causing Narwarán to shiver. Rúmil was a formidable enemy and Narwarán wondered how things could have fallen out between the Elf and the Man. 

“Let him go,” the Dwarf said severely, his hand on the haft of his axe. 

“This is no concern of yours, Elf-friend,” Rúmil replied icily. 

Gimli bristled at the remark, but Hrethil answered in his place. 

“But it is mine,” the young Elf said, with no trace of fear in his voice. “I am the leader of this group and I am ordering you to put your weapon down.” 

“You dare to speak to me with such impertinence?” Rúmil exclaimed, standing up and carelessly releasing the Prince. 

“And you dare to go back on your word?” Hrethil challenged. “You promised me that you would cause no trouble today, Rúmil. Is this your idea of maintaining the peace?” 

Rúmil looked as though he wished to say something else, but instead he held his tongue and regarded the Man at his feet. Eldarion had propped himself on one arm, his other hand wiping away the blood from the cut on his neck. 

Silently, the Elf held out his hand to help the Man up. The Prince looked at the Elf warily before accepting his assistance. They stood facing one another for a moment, but no apology passed between them. Rúmil glanced down at his now blood stained hand and became aware of the sting from the wound on his arm. 

“Let me take care of that,” Narwarán offered, taking the other Elf by the arm. He was surprised when Rúmil offered no resistance and allowed himself to be lead away. 

Eldarion watched as Narwarán set to bathing and bandaging the wound. It was deeper than he originally thought and blood was flowing more freely now. With a heavy sigh he turned away and walked towards his own belongings, sitting beside them heavily. 

Hrethil picked up Narwarán’s discarded blades and cleaned the blood from them. He looked up at the overcast sky. It appeared as though Arien also disapproved of the match between the Elf and the Man and now refused to shine upon their party. 

“It is getting late,” Hrethil announced. “We shall have to spend the night here, for should we start back now, we would arrive at the city well past dusk. I would rather not travel at night.” 

The others agreed, though Rúmil remained silent and stared blankly in front of him. After a light supper, the Elf disappeared into the high branches of a flet and was not heard from again. Narwarán stayed close to him, worried at his friend’s unusual reticence. 

Hrethil remained by the low burning fire to keep the Man and the Dwarf company, doing his best to discuss trivial matters that would keep their minds off the incident that took place earlier that afternoon. But after a while he could feel the tiredness start to creep into his limbs and he bade his companions a good night, also climbing into a nearby flet to take his rest. 

“It is time I also turned in,” Gimli told Eldarion once they were alone. “But I shall be sleeping upon the ground. It is safe enough to do so and I do not like those flets,” he added with disdain as he began arranging his makeshift bed for the night. 

“Afraid that you will roll off of them during your sleep?” the Prince chided. 

“More than you could ever know,” the Dwarf replied, settling down under his warm blanket. 

“Good night, Eldarion.” 

“Good night, Gimli.” 

As the Prince lay down, he discovered how very tired he was. The voice of Nimrodel continued to carry over the falls, singing her sweet lullaby to the resting visitors by her shore. The last thought in Eldarion’s mind before sleep claimed him, was the realization that this was the first night he would lay his head down to rest without Legolas by his side.


	3. Revelations Part I

It was well past midnight when Legolas and Haldir were finally able to return to their quarters for some much-deserved rest. The first day of transporting goods had run smoothly for the most part, but an accident on the final trip to the hythe ensured that the Elves had been delayed while the goods had been transferred onto other wagons. 

Due to the late hour, most of the Elves had decided to stay aboard the white ships for the night, but Legolas had insisted on returning to Caras Galadhon, having missed his lover's company during the day. It was with great disappointment therefore, that the Elf discovered that the Prince’s party had also not returned to the City. 

Despondent, Legolas went to Haldir’s room to spend some quiet time with the Guardian. It was a habit he had formed since his youth and despite being with Haldir all day, he had yet to speak to his mentor about what was troubling him. 

The Guardian was mildly surprised when the Elven Prince slipped into his room, and he arched an eyebrow questioningly. 

“Eldarion and the others have not returned to the City,” Legolas explained. 

“They were undoubtedly so enchanted by the voice of Nimrodel that they could not bear to leave her and thus extended their stay overnight,” Haldir answered lightly, sitting down in his favorite carved chair. “I’m sure they are fine.” 

“Yes, of that I have no doubt,” Legolas agreed, walking over to a side table by the bookcase and pouring two crystal glasses of miruvor. “Although I wonder how much rest any of them will get tonight with the Dwarf’s snoring keeping them company.” 

Haldir laughed gently as he accepted his glass from the Prince and took a sip of the refreshing liquor. Legolas settled into the chair opposite the Guardian. The two Elves sat in peaceful silence as they enjoyed their drinks. The Prince began studying the Guardian under the flickering candlelight. Haldir looked very tired and uncharacteristic dark shadows were starting to form under his eyes. Clearly, the responsibilities involved with preparing for their departure over the course of several months was starting to take its toll. Perhaps now was not the best time to trouble him with Legolas’s own worries. Thoughtfully, Legolas drank the last drop of miruvor from his glass and placed it on a nearby table. 

“You look tired, Haldir,” he said as he approached the Guardian and sat at his feet. “You should get some rest. Tomorrow will be another busy day.” 

The Elven Prince’s nimble fingers began undoing the laces on the Guardian’s light boots, slowly sliding them off and placing them next to the chair. The skilled hands then began to massage the tired feet, first the left foot and then the right. Leisurely, they worked their way up the firm legs, following the same pattern, to the Guardian’s muscled calves. Haldir’s breath caught in his throat as Legolas continued his ministrations, kneading patiently and deliberately across his knees to the inside of his thighs. His grip on his thin-stemmed glass tightened as Legolas kneeled in front of him. When the Elven Prince paused to look into his eyes, they were transported to a time long past when Haldir had been the mentor and Legolas his golden pupil, when such activities had been commonplace and the young Elf’s deceptive submission would quickly lead to other educational activities in the bedroom. Heat flushed now to Haldir’s groin at those crystallized memories, and Legolas’s hands continued to move up his thighs, coming dangerously close to his desire. Then, just as suddenly, they stopped. 

“Legolas,” Haldir said breathlessly. “You cannot.” 

“Yes, Haldir,” the Prince replied, “I can.” He paused and stood up. “But I _will_ not.” 

A sigh of mixed relief and regret escaped the Guardian as the moment passed. Legolas moved behind him and continued to work his magic on Haldir’s tense shoulders. The heat that had pooled in the Guardian’s groin dissipated under the Elf’s soothing touch. 

“Ever the tease,” Haldir said quietly as he closed his eyes in contentment. 

“And who taught me such skill?” Legolas bent down to whisper into his ear. 

Haldir snorted. “I taught you nothing,” he said. “I merely refined what was innate.” 

He could feel Legolas’s amusement coursing through the Elf’s fingertips. But the playful hands began mapping a different path, traveling lower and deeper, tantalizingly brushing the edge of the Guardian’s spine. Haldir involuntarily leaned forward, granting Legolas free roam of his back. 

“Do you torture Eldarion so?” 

“Eldarion is quite adept in this arena,” Legolas replied, glad that the Guardian had brought up the very subject he had in mind. “But there are other things troubling him that I wish to discuss.” 

“What would those be?” Haldir asked, even though he already had an idea of what his beloved was about to say. 

“I have noticed a change in him during the course of our stay here,” Legolas began. “Gimli has noticed as well. He says that Eldarion has picked up some of my more ‘undesirable’ traits.” 

“The golden Prince of Greenwood has undesirable traits?” 

The Guardian’s tone was lightly mocking as he said these words. Then he let out a slight yelp as the Prince roughly kneaded a particularly tight muscle. 

“This is a serious matter, Haldir,” Legolas chastised the Guardian. 

“Yes, it is,” the Guardian agreed, “and you wish to know the cause of this change.” 

“It has been preying on my mind.” Legolas paused as he pondered this and the pace of his massage also took on a slower, more reflective quality. “I cannot attribute it solely to the reception he has received among the Galadhrim, for nearly all have been welcoming of him, and he has made some fast friends. Even those who do not understand or approve of our relationship have been respectful towards him, although there are some exceptions.” 

“There are always exceptions,” Haldir commented, knowing full well to whom the Prince was referring. 

“There is a deeper cause, Haldir. Have you any idea what it might be?” 

“You must truly love him, Legolas, to be so blind.” 

“I do not understand.” 

The Guardian laughed gently, not wishing to offend the Elven Prince. “No, I suppose you do not.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “What is the most important element in any relationship?" he asked after a moment.

“Trust.” 

“And do you trust one another?” 

“Completely,” the Prince answered instantly. 

“After trust then,” the Guardian continued. “What is an emotion powerful enough to pull apart even the strongest bond?” 

The Prince was perplexed.

“Jealousy,” he said at last. His hands stopped their ministrations as the Guardian’s point sunk in. “You think Eldarion is jealous?” he asked incredulously. “Whom would he be jealous of?” 

Haldir shrugged. “Past lovers?” 

Legolas walked around the chair until he was facing the other Elf again. 

“But we have spoken about this,” he told the Guardian. “Eldarion knows that he is the only one in my life, that I have made peace with his father. He is wise beyond his years, Haldir. He understands my history with Aragorn and he accepts it.” 

“Does he understand our history?” 

A look of frustration crossed the fair features of the Elven Prince. 

“You speak in riddles. Say plainly what you mean.” 

“What I mean,” Haldir said, taking hold of the Prince’s hand and pulling him down so that they were eye level, “is that we share a long, complicated past. Perhaps one even more finely woven than that between you and Aragorn. You are my greatest companion, Legolas. You are my friend, my pupil, my lover.” The Guardian shook his head. “If other Elves cannot understand your relationship with Eldarion, then their bafflement is but a shadow compared to Eldarion’s own confusion. He does not understand how things are between us. And how can we expect him to when we have never stayed within the boundaries of convention? He sees me as the greatest threat to your happiness with him, much more than his father could ever have been. For while Aragorn is now part of your past, I am still in your present, and perhaps, I shall be in your future as well.” 

Legolas sank down onto the floor and let out a long sigh. 

“Thank you, Haldir,” he said softly. “You have opened my eyes. Never would it have occurred to me that such thoughts would pass through Eldarion’s mind. For what has he to fear? What may seem gray and murky to his eyes has always been as clear as day to me. I know my own heart as surely as you know yours. There has never been any deception between us.” 

Then he let out a harsh laugh. “You have revealed perhaps more than you desired by telling me this. For by allowing me to understand how Eldarion views my relationship with you, I understand the extent of my own selfishness.” 

“Now it is you who is speaking in riddles.” 

“Haldir, I have wronged you,” the Prince whispered, “for countless years.” 

“Never say that!” the Guardian said fiercely, grabbing the younger Elf by the chin and forcing him to look into the older Elf's eyes. “Have you toyed with my heart as though it were a mere plaything? Do you not love me?” 

“We both know that it is not the same and you deserve far better than that.” 

Legolas’s eyes had become misty pools in the flickering candlelit room. If Elves could cry, tears would surely have spilled from their indigo depths. 

The Guardian shook his head. “If you insist on seeing our relationship in this light, then am I not guilty of selfishness too? For have we not come to each other time and again to satisfy our own needs, whatever they may be, knowing to what extent the other is willing to give and how much one is free to take?” 

“Do not twist my words,” Legolas said severely. “You have never been the selfish one, Haldir. You are selfless to a fault; you give completely without ever expecting anything in return. And I have given you nothing.” 

“On the contrary, beautiful one,” Haldir said gently, stroking Legolas’s smooth cheek, “you have given me all that your heart is capable of giving. Do you wish to know how I see us?” 

The Prince did not respond, and so the Guardian continued in his soothing voice. 

“I remember a time during the Watchful Peace, when a young Elven Prince came to visit a neighboring land, and fell in love with my beautiful city. And as I watched this youth, full of life and wonder, my heart, which had grown still in my solitude, began to beat again, and I knew that I was hopelessly lost. This Prince was forced to stay with us longer than he intended, for the paths between Mirkwood and Lórien grew dark and were soon infested with Orcs, making them too dangerous to pass. During this time, I took him under my wing and he became my most prized pupil. But I kept my love for a him a secret, believing it to be inappropriate given our teacher-pupil relationship and for a deeper reason – the fear that this most beautiful of creatures, who could have any that he desired, would surely reject me.” 

Legolas, who had been intently studying the grain of the wooden floor, now looked up and gave the Guardian a tender smile, clasping the other Elf’s hand and resting it on Haldir’s knee. 

“But our time together ended too soon for me, for the roads between our lands were eventually cleared and the young Prince returned to his anxious family. Centuries passed and I did not see him, though his image burned like a brand in my mind, and the sound of his tinkling laugh lightened my heart. Until, one day, he rode into Lothlórien again with his royal guard on behalf of his father. 

“How my heart leaped to see him, and how much he had changed! The inexperienced youth had matured into an experienced Captain and valiant warrior, the tales of his archery skills well known among his people. And I found that it was I, who now bowed in his company. But the Prince would have none of this formality, and I discovered that though he had changed, he still remained the same and for that, I loved him even more. He still called me ‘teacher” and it was not long before we fell into old habits again. 

“One night, as we walked under the mallorn trees and the star of Eärendil was high in the sky, my heart could remain silent no longer and I confessed my love to him. He accepted this confession with the grace and gentleness that was in his nature, but still he said the words that my heart feared to hear – he did not feel the same. Yet, he could not bear to turn me away, nor be the cause of my pain and so he opened his arms to me, and we laid together for the first time under a starry sky.” 

Haldir’s words were soft and comforting, and Legolas could feel them caressing him, lulling him, drawing him deeply into this tale that he was an intricate part of. With a sigh, he rested his head on the Guardian’s knee, but did not release the Elf’s hand. Haldir smiled and tenderly stroked the Prince’s golden mane. 

“We came to an understanding that night, he and I,” the Guardian continued. “There was an unbreakable bond between us, first and foremost, one of friendship and companionship. But there was love too, in its myriad forms, and we had opened another door by exploring the possibilities of physical love. The years passed, though they seemed but the blink of an eye to me, and I thought, ‘Perhaps, perhaps in time, he will feel the same.’” 

“Yes, Haldir,” Legolas murmured. “I thought so too.” 

“But it was not to be.” 

The Guardian paused thoughtfully and lifted the Prince’s chin. 

“That is how I see us, Legolas,” he said, “and I cherish every moment that we have spent together. Do not be sad. You have never been selfish. And have we both not learned that the ways of the heart are often beyond our choosing and comprehension? Is Eldarion not learning this lesson now?” 

“I came to you tonight to share my concerns about Eldarion and seek your counsel,” Legolas answered. “Instead, you have unraveled for me our own tangled past.” 

“History is a never-ending process,” Haldir replied. “It is both the curse and the blessing of the Eldar to ebb and flow with time. But our histories – yours, Eldarion’s, and mine – are all intertwined. To understand one is to understand the other. Surely, you must see that?” 

The Prince smiled ruefully. 

“You are still my teacher, Haldir,” he said, standing up. “I will go now.”

“Be safe, Legolas,” the Guardian replied, giving the Prince’s hand one final squeeze before releasing it. He knew what Legolas would do. 

“I will, the Prince reassured him. 

When Legolas left his chambers at last, Haldir remained seated in quiet contemplation. He had told Legolas the truth, as he saw it, regarding Eldarion. But there was more he had left unsaid. It would be best to let Legolas discover this for himself. Like any good mentor, Haldir had pointed his pupil in the right direction.

~*~*~*~

Eldarion awoke to the smell of brewing coffee. He opened his eyes, wondering who among their party had the foresight to bring coffee with them. He certainly had not anticipated spending the night by the falls. As the fuzziness cleared from his mind, he became aware that someone was sitting next to him.

“Breakfast?” this someone asked in a lovely, melodic voice. 

The Man quickly sat up and turned around. His eyes focused on the small plate filled with sweet fruits and lembas that was being offered to him. Then they traveled upwards until they met the smiling eyes of the owner of that lovely, melodic voice. 

“I am no ghost,” Legolas assured him, taking a red grape from the plate and putting it into his mouth. 

“But how did you get here?” Eldarion asked. He also took a grape from the plate and placed it in his mouth. 

The Elf nodded in the direction of a magnificent white stallion, which was drinking from the waters of Nimrodel. 

“Fainrîn was in the mood for a midnight ride,” he explained. 

“By yourself?” the Man questioned. “Was that wise?” 

“Probably not,” the Elf laughed. “But we are safer in Lothlórien than we are in most places in Middle-earth. At any rate, I felt the need for your company.” 

The Prince smiled warmly and felt himself flush with happiness at the Elf’s words. To have Legolas with him was a welcome surprise after the excitement of the day before. His thoughts clouded for a moment as he wondered where Rúmil was. Then he looked at Legolas, realizing that the Elf probably had not rested at all. 

“You look tired,” he said, his words echoing Legolas’s own concern to the Guardian the night before. “I doubt that you have had any time to rest,” he reprimanded the Elf. “And don't tell me that Elves require less rest than Men. You still require rest.” 

“I will not argue with your flawless logic,” Legolas replied good-naturedly. “And you are correct. I have not had time to rest.” 

“Then you should rest now,” the Man encouraged, moving aside to allow the Elf to lie down on his bedroll. “I doubt that we shall be leaving soon. There is time for you to rest.” 

Legolas looked down at the comfortable bedroll. It had suddenly become quite inviting to him. Handing over the plate of food to the Prince, he stretched himself out on its warm folds. 

“I think I could do with a short nap,” he murmured, smiling contentedly as his lover brushed the loose strands of hair from his face. In a matter of moments the Elven Prince had fallen sound asleep.

~*~*~*~

When Legolas woke many hours later, only the sound of Nimrodel’s voice greeted him. Puzzled, he sat up and discovered that the campsite had been cleared. There were no traces of the party’s presence by the bank of Nimrodel. A quick look to his right determined that Eldarion’s belongings were still there and the Elf was sure that Fainrîn was frolicking nearby. He stood up and stretched, wondering how long he had slept for.

“Just a short nap?” a voice chided him. 

Legolas turned around and saw Eldarion emerging from the woods behind him. 

“What time is it?” the Elf asked him. “I feel as though I have slept all day.” 

“You have,” the Prince replied. “It is almost four o'clock.” 

“Eldarion! How could you let me sleep so long?” 

The Man shrugged. “I did not have the heart to wake you.” Then he smiled mischievously. “And I enjoy watching you sleep.” 

“Do you?” the Elf asked coyly. Then he grew serious. “And the others?” 

“They left a little after lunch," the Prince said. “I assured them that we could take care of ourselves and that we would be back at the City before dark.” 

“So, we are alone?” 

“Quite alone.” 

For a moment, the two lovers stood perfectly still and watched one another. Then the Elf began to undress, his clothes easily slipping off his slender frame like water. The Man relished the sight of his lover’s body slowly being revealed to him in this titillating display. But to the Prince’s great surprise, when the Elf had finished undressing, he did not approach the Man. Instead, he turned around and began heading towards the water’s edge. 

“Legolas?” Eldarion called. “Where are you going?"

“I am going to bathe,” the Elf replied. 

“I know you are addicted to bathing,” the Man said as he followed the Elf, “but the water is too cold. Even for Elves,” he added. 

Legolas cast a fey smile across his shoulder as he looked at the Prince. 

“It is cold by the bank,” he said. “But I assure you, it is quite warm underneath the waterfall, particularly in the secluded space between the falls and its rock wall. And if you disagree, I will warm you myself.” 

Without waiting for a response from the Prince, the Elf dived into the water and swam to the heart of the falls. Once he reached the cascading water, he turned around and beckoned to the Man to join him. Then he disappeared through the curtain of shimmering water. 

Eldarion stood by the bank at a loss for words. Tentatively, he bent down and dipped his hand into the water. Freezing. The Elf has gone mad, he told himself. But this thought did not prevent him from undressing until he was standing naked and shivering by the shore. The Prince was wondering which was worse, to catch his death of cold by the bank of Nimrodel, or to freeze to death in her icy waters. Neither thought was terribly appealing to him as he dived into the pool. 

The water was as sharp as a knife as it cut into his skin. With great effort he swam to the center of the falls, each stroke causing his body to protest at this inhuman temperature. But as he drew nearer to his destination, the Prince noticed that his body did not protest as much, nor did the water cut so deeply to the bone. Indeed, unless he was dreaming, the water was ever so slightly rising in temperature. It had become tolerable by the time he reached the cascading water. With a deep breath he passed through the falling water as Legolas had done. 

The Elf was waiting for him on the other side, casually leaning against the face of the rock wall, waist-deep in water. 

“How is this possible?” he asked in amazement, noticing that the temperature of the water was steadily rising as he neared the Elf. While it did not approach the pleasures of a steaming hot bath, welcoming warmth still infused his bones. 

“The rock,” Legolas explained, tapping the stone behind him, “has rather unusual properties. No one quite knows why it generates the warmth it does, but there are several theories.” 

The Elf watched as the Man swam to the rock surface, curiously running his hand across the stone. Legolas came to stand behind him, pushing him against the warm face. 

“Are you really interested in hearing these theories?" the Elf asked, running his hand up and down the Man’s side, “or would you rather do something else?” 

“What are the options?” 

“I could take you right now,” Legolas whispered seductively, his lips brushing the Man’s tender neck, “up against this rock wall. Would you like that?” 

“Very much,” the Prince breathed. 

The Elf laughed lightly and stepped away. 

“Then you shall have to wait,” he told the eager Prince as he began rubbing the Man’s back. 

Eldarion turned around, a look of mock annoyance on his face. He had grown used to the Elf’s games and knew that the longer waited, the greater his reward. He leaned leisurely against the rock wall as Legolas continued to bathe his chest and torso. 

“Who would have guessed that you had such motherly instincts?” he asked the Elf. 

Legolas arched a golden eyebrow and leaned forward, placing his arms on either side of the Prince. 

“Perhaps I only ‘mother’ those who need it,” the Elf replied, nipping the Man’s earlobe. 

“That was not very motherly,” Eldarion chastised, even though he could feel himself becoming aroused by the Elf’s actions. He shifted his hips suggestively against the Elf. 

Legolas responded by capturing the Prince’s lips in a kiss, tasting every inch of this mouth that he knew so well. Eldarion matched the slow tempo of the kiss, savoring the sweetness that belonged to Legolas alone. 

“Wrap your legs around me,” the Elf whispered in his ear when the kiss ended. 

The Man obliged and leaned forward to kiss the Elf again. Distracted by their kiss, the Prince did not notice that Legolas had grabbed hold of his wrists, until he found them pinned high above his head. 

“Sneaky Elf,” he said, though his vulnerable position only served to arouse him more. 

Legolas smiled and rocked his hips against the Man. Eldarion tried to reciprocate, but found his movement inhibited by his position. The Elf shook his head, still smiling, and the Prince knew that he would be at his lover’s mercy on this occasion. Deliberately, Legolas placed his hardened member at the entrance of the Man’s tight opening. Eldarion’s breathing grew shallow as he anticipated the Elf’s slide into him and he closed his eyes. When it did not take place, he opened his gray eyes and looked at the Elf questioningly. 

“What are you waiting for?” 

“I wish to speak to you.” 

“ _Now_?” the Prince asked incredulously. 

“I can think of no better time.” 

Eldarion sighed, knowing that he would have to submit to the Elf’s will in order to have his pleasure fulfilled. He had neither Legolas’s patience, nor self-control, though he was working hard to achieve both. 

“What do you wish to speak of?” 

“Tell me what happened yesterday.” 

“What do you mean?” the Prince asked, though tension laced his question. 

“You know what I mean,” the Elf answered, slowly pushing himself inside. “Hrethil declined to speak of it when I arrived this morning. He thought it would be best if I heard it from you.” 

“There was an incident,” Eldarion breathed, as Legolas continued his agonizingly slow slide, “yesterday afternoon.” 

The Man glared balefully at the Elf, who stilled the moment he was fully sheathed. Feeling Legolas inside him and not moving was a torture greater than that of anticipation. But once again, Eldarion had to marvel at his lover’s self-control. 

Legolas bent down to kiss the Prince’s neck, holding the Man’s wrists in one hand as the other traveled down the Man’s body until it curved around his waist, drawing his lover closer and providing better support. The Elf’s keen eyes fixed on the small gash on his lover’s neck and he deliberately ran his tongue over the healing wound. Eldarion let out a moan at the pleasurable sting caused by the action. 

“Is this a souvenir from yesterday’s incident?” 

“Yes,” the Prince gasped, trying to shift his position to goad Legolas into moving. But the Elf’s grip around his waist tightened, stilling him further. Defeated, the Man let his head rest on the rock wall behind him. 

Aware of his lover’s condition, Legolas suddenly withdrew and then slammed back into the Prince. Eldarion let out a cry as his pleasure spot was hit with practiced ease, but his cry faded to a moan of anguish as the Elf stilled again. 

“You torture me,” he said raggedly. 

“You torture yourself,” the Elf replied. “What happened yesterday?” 

The blood was rushing to Eldarion’s head. He could feel it throbbing in his temples. Conscious thought had become too difficult and the words spilled from his lips in a jumbled mess. He told Legolas of Rúmil’s challenge after lunch, how he could not refuse, and his wish to put this arrogant Elf in his place. Legolas had begun to rock into him, making speech and thought near impossible, but somehow the Prince managed to recount the match and Rúmil’s wound, the Elf’s subsequent reaction, and the interference of Narwarán and the others. His moans were starting to echo around him as he neared his peak. Then, quite suddenly, Legolas stilled again. 

“You cannot stop now!” the Prince cried. 

“There is something else we must discuss.” 

“Surely it can wait,” Eldarion pleaded. 

“No, _meleth-nin_ [1], it cannot.” 

The Man threw his head back on the rock in despair. The pain caused by the action was nothing compared to the frenzy he was already in. What could be so important? 

“What do you wish to speak of now?” 

“Haldir.” 

The Prince was knocked to his senses at the mention of the Guardian’s name. His body grew rigid and the supreme tightness that suddenly surrounded Legolas almost made the Elf lose control. With a deep breath, he looked into his lover’s sea gray eyes. 

“How do you feel about Haldir?” 

“I do not understand the question.” 

“I think you do.” 

Eldarion looked away, as though he were searching for some means of escape. But escape was futile. He knew that. The hand that had pinned his wrists now released them as Legolas turned his chin to face the Elf. 

“You have nothing to fear from Haldir,” he said gently, marking the confusion and turbulence he saw in those gray depths. “He is no threat to you. I forget Eldarion,” he explained, “how very young you are, and I am so consumed by my love for you, that such thoughts as jealousy or insecurity would never occur to me. Forgive me for my ignorance.” 

Eldarion’s eyes had grown moist, though whether they were caused by tears or from the spray of the falls, he could not say. He wrapped his arms around the Elf and pulled Legolas close, resting his head on the Elf’s chest. 

“I admire Haldir,” he said softly. “And I often wonder how you could choose someone like me over a being so perfect. I watch the two of you and I believe that you belong together. Though he does not intend it, he makes me feel unworthy of your love. I am crude and coarse compared to him. And, Legolas?” The Prince’s voice had dropped to barely a whisper. 

“Yes?”

“I am mortal.” 

The three simple words cut straight to the Elven Prince’s heart. He often strove to forget this fact, for the Elf was painfully aware that their time together was short. The Man’s whole life still lay before them, and though Eldarion was of Númenor descent, ensuring that his lifespan was longer than that of lesser Men, it was but a few seasons compared to the eternity that would face Legolas once he was gone. The Elf took a deep breath before speaking. 

“Many of my kin would say that it is folly to love the _firiath_ [2], for their time is too short upon this earth. But it is a mistake I gladly make,” Legolas continued, gently stroking the Man’s damp hair, “for I have found among the Edain, beings more worthy of my love than among my own kin. Do not doubt you worth, Eldarion. No being is perfect. Our one lifetime together shall burn more brightly than all my years without you.” 

The Prince lifted his head and there was no mistaking the tears that glistened in his eyes. The Elf kissed the salty tears away and his hand traveled down the Man’s chest until it grasped the firm shaft that lay nestled between their bodies. Stroking the shaft in time to his rhythmic thrusts, the Elf set out to finish what he had started. 

Later, as the two lovers dressed and packed their belongings by the bank, Eldarion noticed that darkness had come upon them quickly. It was not yet five o’clock, but the sun’s rays had completely disappeared and the clouds were dark and menacing above them. A strong wind blew through the trees, causing the branches to sway. 

“It appears a storm is brewing,” Eldarion said. He noticed for the first time that Legolas had stopped packing and was standing completely still, as though listening to something. 

“Nay,” the Elf answered. “There is more than a storm brewing.” He turned to face the Prince. “We must leave,” he said urgently. “Now.” 

Hastily, he threw the rest of his belongings into his satchel and motioned for Eldarion to do the same. 

“ _Tolo_ [3], Fainrîn!” he called. “ _Tolo_!”

The white stallion appeared by the bank of Nimrodel, further down the fair stream. It cantered towards them and Legolas easily mounted the steed, bending down to assist Eldarion. When the Prince was seated behind him, Legolas urged his mount forward. Fainrîn was skittish, as though he too could sense danger. 

The two lovers raced through the darkening woods. Eldarion could not remember ever having seen the great trees look so threatening. The wind howled through their branches, carrying voices warning them of danger. The Prince shivered. Although he could not understand the language of the trees, he knew that an ancient evil was following them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> 1\. meleth-nin - my love  
> 2\. firiath - mortal beings  
> 3\. Tolo! - Come!


	4. Servants of Darkness

The city of Caras Galadhon was well lit as Legolas’s white stallion galloped around its outer wall heading towards the great southern gates. Fainrîn had settled down once they had put some distance between them and the Falls of Nimrodel, and Eldarion noticed that Legolas had also relaxed somewhat during the ride. Though they did not speak of it, the Prince was fairly certain that whatever had been following them had given up the chase. He marked the sentries that had been placed on the great green wall, realizing that that was the first time he had ever seen the city’s outer wall guarded. When they reached the southern gates, they instantly swung open and the two companions quickly passed through them, and the gates closed soundlessly behind them. An anxious Hrethil greeted them on the other side. 

“I’m so relieved to see you both!” he exclaimed as the two dismounted. “When it grew dark and you had not yet arrived, I feared the worst. Are you all right?” he asked worriedly, his quick eyes inspecting the two for any injury. 

“We are fine,” Eldarion assured his friend. “But what is happening here?” 

The question seemed to trigger something in Hrethil and he grew serious. 

“Come,” he said, turning around and urging them to follow him. “Haldir has called a meeting on the lawn. It should begin at any moment. He was also concerned for your safety,” the young Elf said, as they began climbing the stairs and pathways that would lead to the great lawn, “and wished to wait for your return before beginning.” 

“You have not answered our question, Hrethil,” Legolas said quietly. “What has happened?” 

“One of our northern patrols has been attacked,” the Elf explained. “Two of the Elves were badly injured and one was slain.” 

“By Orcs?” Eldarion questioned. 

“No,” Hrethil answered. “We believe it was a pack of wolves.” 

“Are wolves common in Lothlórien?” 

“During the time of the Shadow they were common enough,” Hrethil said. “But never have they been so bold.” 

“These are no ordinary wolves,” Legolas said thoughtfully, as they reached the wide lawn. 

“We feared as much,” Hrethil nodded. “Come,” he said again. “Haldir is waiting.” 

Hrethil moved into the throng of Elves that crowded the spacious lawn, with Legolas and Eldarion following close behind him. 

“What did you mean by that?” the Prince asked quietly. 

“I speak of the _gaurhoth_ ,” Legolas answered. 

“ _Gaurhoth_.” Eldarion repeated the strange Elvish word. He was not familiar with it. 

“Yes,” Legolas replied. “The werewolf-host.” 

The three companions stopped near the front of the crowd. Haldir was standing on a small dais that had been erected in front of the fountain. On either side of him stood Rúmil and Orophin. Hrethil signaled to the Guardian that Legolas and Eldarion had arrived safely. A look of relief crossed Haldir’s face when he caught sight of the two lovers. Legolas gave him a reassuring smile and the Guardian nodded, his expression growing serious as he called the attention of the crowd. 

“My friends,” he said solemnly, waiting for the chatter to die down. “I have called you here tonight to discuss a matter that affects us all. As some of you may have heard, one of our northern patrols was attacked today not far from the Falls of Nimrodel.” The Guardian paused and looked pointedly at Legolas and Eldarion and the Man involuntarily shivered. They had been in greater danger than he realized. 

“Calad was slain.” Murmurs rose from the crowd at the ill news, but Haldir continued. “Aurglîr and Corunar were badly injured. Our healers are tending to them and I understand that they will recover. But they are delirious and feverish from their wounds, and not much information can be gleaned from them. They were found by Orophin’s patrol that was on their way to replace them. I shall now let my brother speak and he will share his findings with us all.” 

Haldir stepped back and allowed Orophin to take the center of attention. The golden-haired Elf looked at his peers gravely, with an unmistakable sadness in his eyes. Though his voice was low, it carried easily to the hushed crowd. 

“My patrol came upon Aurglîr and Corunar in a small clearing not far from Nimrodel. Their clothes were torn and bloodied, their ribs cracked, their bows destroyed. Corunar told me before he lost consciousness that a host of wolves had taken them by surprise from the north. He counted perhaps five or seven in number, but there could be more. He said that these creatures were larger and fiercer than any he had ever seen. Although numerous arrows lay around the clearing and in the trunks of the trees, no blood was found on any of them and we can assume that they missed their mark.” 

A ripple of disbelief ran through the crowd of Elves. Aurglîr, Corunar and Calad were all fine archers. It was unfathomable that they were unable to kill a single beast, even outnumbered as they were. Haldir held up his hand for silence and Orophin continued. 

“There is more,” the golden-haired Elf said, his voice more forceful than before. “We do not believe that these were ordinary wolves,” he explained. “For among the wolf tracks we saw in the clearing, we also found larger, man-like prints that belonged to no Elf or Man. I do not know the reason, but I fear that the _gaurhoth_ have entered our blessed realm. I also believe that it was never their intention to slay the patrol they came upon, but only to wound and weaken them. If my patrol had not arrived at the scene, I believe that the _gaurhoth_ would have returned and they would have brought their Maker with them.” 

There was no stopping the excited talk and raised voices that followed Orophin’s revelation. Such evil entering Lothlórien was unheard of, not since the War of the Ring, when Sauron’s forces had threatened to overrun the Elven land. 

Haldir stepped forward and attempted to regain control. 

“Please! Please!” he called, his hands raised in a signal for silence. “We must decide what to do.” 

“We must find their lair and kill these foul beasts!” someone called out. 

A chorus of agreement followed the remark. 

“Yes, I agree,” Haldir said. “But we must be cautious in our actions. I value my brother’s opinion and his tracking skills, but there are too many questions left unanswered. There is little doubt that we are dealing with the _gaurhoth_ , but we do not know their intentions, or that of their Maker, if indeed they have one with them.” 

“There must be a Maker,” an Elf said from the side of the crowd. “These creatures would not be able to strike without a leader.” 

“The _gaurhoth_ are not mindless drones,” another Elf said. “They have the natural instinct of wolves. They travel in packs, and it is not uncommon for them to kill for food or when the moon is high.” 

“Their attack came during the day,” a third Elf countered. “And the fact that they did not kill two of our kin, nor feast upon them is most unnatural. It can only mean one thing, that Orophin’s conclusion is correct. They were saving our people for their Maker.” 

“But a Maker!” a younger Elf exclaimed in alarm. “I have never dealt with the _gaurhoth_ and their history is unclear to me, but you all speak so easily of a Maker. Such a person must be well versed in the Dark Arts and a long-time servant of the Dark Lord. I cannot believe that a sorcerer of such power could still dwell among us!” 

“Evil can never be wholly destroyed.” A silence filled the air as Legolas’s clear voice spoke. “It may be defeated and diminished, but ever it lies in wait until the moment it is strong enough to rise again. We have grown lax in our vigilance. These creatures must be found and their intentions revealed, but Haldir is correct. We must proceed with caution.” 

The Prince of Greenwood stopped speaking and looked to the Guardian to take command of the gathering. 

“Tomorrow’s trips to the hythe will be cancelled,” Haldir stated. “Although there have been no incidents in the South, it is not prudent to transport goods when there is a threat of attack. I will send a host of Elves to guard the ships until the danger has passed. I wish to speak to my Captains now. We will formulate a plan and choose the best scouts, trackers and those who have dealt with the _gaurhoth_ in the past, from among you. That will be all for tonight. Come! Take your supper now and do not dwell too much on this. We will meet this evil and defeat it together.” 

The gathering dispersed and most of the Elves went to the banquet hall to take their supper. A group of Elves stayed behind and approached the dais where the Guardian and his brothers waited. Eldarion assumed that these must be the Captains that Haldir wished to see. He felt a tug on his sleeve and turned to look at Hrethil. 

“It is not our place to stay,” the Elf told him. “Let us do as Haldir suggested. I confess I am quite hungry. There has been too much excitement today and it has not been pleasant.” 

“Very well,” the Prince agreed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gimli walking towards them. The Dwarf had been standing near the edge of the crowd. 

“I am glad to see you both well,” he said seriously when he reached them. “Orophin brings ill tidings. My people have also dealt with the _gaurhoth_ , as you call them, in the past. They are fearsome creatures. You were both too close to danger today.” 

“That is true,” Legolas replied, “but we have returned unharmed.” 

The party turned to head towards the banquet hall, but Haldir’s voice stopped them. 

“Legolas!” the Guardian called. “Would you join us?” 

The Elven Prince nodded and glanced at Eldarion. 

“I must stay and speak with Haldir. I will see you in a little while,” he told the Prince. “And do try to leave something for me,” he said sideways to the Dwarf. 

“It shall be a small something,” Gimli retorted, “seeing as you eat like a bird.” 

Legolas laughed lightly as he walked to join Haldir and his captains. 

For a moment, Eldarion stood and watched the Elves by the fountain. A slight twinge of jealousy was starting to creep into him, which he quickly smothered. Legolas’s words to him by the falls rang in his mind. Haldir was no threat to him. How could he still think such thoughts, especially during a time like this? With a sigh, the Prince turned and began walking towards his companions.

~*~*~*~

Upon entering the main banquet hall, the three friends were waved over by Narwarán, who had managed to secure one of the smaller tables by the far side of the hall. The table was already filled with sweet meats and other Elven fare that Eldarion had grown accustomed to eating.

“Eldarion,” the Elf said warmly, when they approached. “I am relieved to see you well and unharmed. When news of the attack reached us, I instantly regretted leaving you by the falls. Where is Legolas?” 

“He stayed behind to speak with Haldir,” the Prince answered, taking a seat beside the Elf. 

“Ah,” Narwarán commented. “That was to be expected. I have no doubt that Legolas has dealt with the _gaurhoth_ before. There was a time when Greenwood the Great was known as Mirkwood, and for good reason.” The Elf paused and offered the Man a plate of sweetened meat. 

“Thank you,” Eldarion replied, taking some meat and passing the plate to the others. “I confess,” the Prince continued after a moment, “I have never encountered the _gaurhoth_. Indeed, I know very little about them and their history. How were such fell creatures made?” 

“The _gaurhoth_ are an ancient evil that have been among us since the First Age of the Sun,” Narwarán began, “and they have been a scourge on my people. Their origins are uncertain to me. One would have to delve deep into the great libraries, such that can be found in Minas Tirith or in the great lore books of Lord Elrond to know their true beginning. But I have heard tales that during the First Age, many tortured spirits that were believed to have once been thralls of Melkor came to the land of Beleriand. Whether they were once Maiar spirits shed of their earthly forms or whether they were some other form of evil beings, I do not know. But in Beleriand they entered the form of wolves through sorcery, and they had the ability to understand both the Black Speech of the Orcs and our own fair tongue.” 

Narwarán paused for a moment to take a bite of his meal, but when he noticed that his companions were listening to him intently, he quickly swallowed his food and continued.

“From these creatures, the Dark Lord forged a mighty army and during the long Wars of Beleriand, they fought against us, defeating many of our strongest warriors, under the banner of Sauron. Eventually, the Dark Lord and his Werewolf-host came to a Noldor tower on the River Sirion and conquered it. This tower became known as Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the “Isle of Werewolves,” and there Sauron ruled for a time, until Huan, the Wolfhound of the Valar, came to challenge him. Draugluin, Sire and Lord of the Werewolf race, fought Huan in a great battle. In the end, Draugluin fled to the throne of Sauron, his captain, and died at his feet after speaking the name of Huan, whose coming had been foretold. 

“Sauron, the shape-shifter, then transformed himself into a Werewolf greater in size and strength than Draugluin, but even so, Huan held the bridge. By no means of sorcery or strength of limb could Sauron free himself. Therefore, he surrendered the Tower to Beren and Lúthien whom the Wolfhound served. The Dark Lord then fled in the form of a great Vampire Bat and the evil enchantment fell from Tol-in-Gaurhoth. The power in the realm of the Werewolves was broken in Beleriand forever.” 

Narwarán finished his tale and looked round the table. Hardly anyone had touched their food, so rapt were they by his story. 

“Please, eat,” he encouraged them. “Your supper is getting cold. Did Haldir not say that we should not dwell on this overmuch?” 

Eldarion nodded and took a bite of his sweet meat. The Prince had suddenly become aware of how very hungry he was. 

“How can we possibly dwell on anything else?” Hrethil exclaimed as he stabbed at his meat. “My blood boils at the audacity of these fell creatures. To enter our fair woods and threaten our people. On the eve of our departure, no less!” 

“Calm yourself, Hrethil,” Eldarion told his friend. “You will need a cool head if you wish to deal with these dark servants.” 

“And deal with them, I shall!” Hrethil declared. “I will not leave Lothlórien until those wolves are destroyed. I could not bear to leave these beautiful woods with the knowledge that they have been tainted with evil.” 

“Those are fighting words,” a voice said from behind them. 

The group turned to see Orophin approach them. 

“May I join you?” the Guardian’s brother asked.

“Please do,” Narwarán replied, standing up and pulling out the empty seat on the other side of him. “What plans have you and the other Captains formulated?” he inquired. 

“We will do a broad-based search tomorrow along the northern borders of Lothlórien,” Orophin answered, helping himself to the food at the table. “Each team shall be composed of five trackers including the Captain. At this moment, the Captains are approaching the Elves who they wish to join their teams.”

“I gladly volunteer my services,” Hrethil spoke up. 

“And I gladly accept,” Orophin smiled. “In fact,” the Elf continued, “I approached your group in the hopes of recruiting you all,” he paused meaningfully and looked at the Man, “for my team tomorrow. That is, if you are willing.” 

“I cannot speak for the others,” Narwarán said, “but I would be happy to be part of your team.” 

Orophin looked at the Man and the Dwarf.

“I will understand if the two of you choose to decline,” he said. “I imagine that Legolas would want you for his own team.”

“Legolas will be directing his own team?” Eldarion asked curiously. 

“Most definitely,” Orophin said. “He has encountered the _gaurhoth_ on many an occasion during the dark years of Mirkwood.” 

Eldarion nodded thoughtfully and glanced to his right, where Gimli also sat in quiet contemplation. 

“What say you?” he addressed the Dwarf. 

Gimli grunted. 

“My instincts say that I should join Legolas’s team,” he admitted. “That Elf needs watching over. But I wonder,” he paused and looked at the Man. 

“You need not wonder, Gimli,” Eldarion said good-naturedly. “I am capable of taking care of myself. And I agree with you. If anyone needs ‘baby-sitting,’ it is your old friend.” 

The Dwarf made some sort of disparaging sound, but did not dignify the comment with one of his own. The Prince often chided him about his “baby-sitting” responsibilities, which the Man knew aggravated the Dwarf to no end.

“I will join your team, Orophin,” Eldarion said, addressing the Guardian’s brother. “It would be my honor to do so.” 

The golden-haired Elf looked surprised by the Prince’s acceptance, but his surprise was quickly replaced by a sincere smile of gratitude and he acknowledged the Man’s statement with a nod. Eldarion’s unfortunate encounter with his brother the day before had been recounted to him by Narwarán earlier that afternoon. Orophin had been incensed by Rúmil’s actions and had resolved to separate the two as much as possible. Trying to repair and improve his own relationship with the Prince would only be hampered by Rúmil’s rashness. But the Elf believed that working with the Man tomorrow would be a positive start. 

The group settled down to enjoy the rest of their meal, and conversation soon drifted to lighter topics that took their minds off of tomorrow’s impending search. Eldarion found himself so at ease with his companions that the Prince did not even notice that his lover had not joined them for dinner.

~*~*~*~

While it was true that Legolas did not join the others in the main banquet hall, the Elven Prince did not skip dinner that eve. After discussing matters with Haldir and his captains, the two Elves had retired to the Guardian’s chambers to have a private supper. A small table with a simple meal had been laid out on the Guardian’s balcony, which overlooked the glittering lights of the city below. For a while the two Elves ate in silence until Haldir reached over and clasped the Prince’s hand.

“I was concerned for yours and Eldarion’s safety today,” he said seriously. “You were much too close to danger.” 

Legolas smiled and squeezed Haldir’s hand reassuringly. 

“We have returned unharmed.” 

“And for that I am thankful.” The Guardian released the younger Elf’s hand. “But did anything happen to the two of you today? Did you feel a presence in the woods?”

“Yes,” Legolas answered. “The trees warned me of danger. They spoke of an evil that had entered Lórien and I could feel their pain.” 

Another silence followed until Legolas spoke again. 

“I believe Orophin’s conclusion is correct,” the Prince said. “The presence in the woods was strong, Haldir, and could not have come from the _gaurhoth_ alone. It was menacing, as though some sorcery had blocked out the light of the sun and made the world overcast and gray. For a moment, I felt as though time had gone backwards and I was in the dark days of Mirkwood once more.” The Prince sighed. “If only Mithrandir were with us.” 

“Do not despair yet,” Haldir replied. “Your people lived in a sea of darkness for centuries, and were never defeated. Neither will we. Have you thought about which trackers you will bring with you tomorrow?” 

“The Dwarf will come with me, and I doubt I have any say on that matter.”

The Guardian laughed gently. “And Eldarion?”

“I will ask him,” Legolas said thoughtfully, “though I have a feeling that he will wish to go with another team.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He is strong-willed, like his father. He may wish to exercise his independence and not feel over-protected by my presence.” 

“Perhaps,” the Guardian agreed. “I have approached a number of our best trackers and scouts this eve. You may have your pick from among them.” 

Legolas nodded and their talk also moved onto lighter matters. After supper, the Elven Prince wandered around the numerous pathways of the City, but inevitably found himself heading towards his chambers where he knew his lover would be waiting for him. As he crossed the hanging bridge that would lead to their quarters, he heard raised voices from below and Eldarion’s name drifted to his sensitive ears. Curious, he stopped and leaned lightly over the rope edge. Two pathways beneath him, he could see the outline of Rúmil and Orophin having a heated conversation in the moonlight. 

The Prince knew that he should not be listening to the brothers’ private conversation and he smiled to himself ruefully, realizing that he had also picked up some of his lover’s more “undesirable” traits. _Was it his fault if the Elves did not keep their voices low?_ he rationalized. He did not have any more time to justify his actions, for Rúmil’s voice rang out clearly in the still night. 

“Have you gone mad?” the Elf exclaimed. “Whatever possessed you to ask that half-breed to be part of your team? Let Legolas deal with him since he is so fond of mortals.” 

“Keep you voice down!” Orophin hissed. “Eldarion is a fine warrior and tracker. He will be a valuable asset to my team. It is you that has lost your senses. What were you thinking when you challenged him to one-on-one combat?” 

“I was thinking that I would teach him a lesson.” 

“Well, apparently it is he who has taught you a lesson instead.” 

Rúmil’s eyes blazed with fury and for a moment, Orophin thought that he had pushed his brother too far. 

“Make sure he stays out of my way,” Rúmil said in a low, but lethal voice. Then the Elf spun on his heel and stalked away. 

“Rúmil!” Orophin called after him. “We are not finished.” 

Legolas watched as Rúmil did not heed his brother’s words. With a shake of his head, Orophin followed his brother down the pathway. After a moment, Legolas also turned and continued his walk to his quarters, his thoughts lingering on the conversation he had just heard. He had underestimated the division between his lover and Rúmil, and this troubled him. Perhaps he should have a word with Rúmil? Or perhaps he should mention this incident to Haldir and let the Guardian speak to his brother? The Prince shook his head, abhorring his indecision. At the very least, he knew that Eldarion would not take kindly to any interference on his part. The Man’s pride would insist that he be allowed to deal with his own problems.

When he stepped inside his quarters, he found Eldarion lying leisurely on the bed with a bowl of fresh strawberries. 

“What is this?” he asked as he removed his light boots and sat down cross-legged on the bed. 

“Dessert,” the Man replied. Then he stood up and went to a table to pick up a smaller bowl. “I also happened to bring something else for your sweet tooth,” he added. 

“Oh?”

The Man sat back down on the bed opposite the Elf and dipped his finger into the bowl of cream, holding it out for Legolas to taste. 

The Elf leaned forward and sucked the Prince’s finger, his tongue slowly running up and down its length and swirling at the tip as he withdrew his mouth. Eldarion flushed at the Elf’s gesture and his lips parted as he watched his lover. 

“Delicious,” Legolas said playfully, “but I can think of something else that will taste better.” 

The Elf leaned over once again and captured the Prince’s parted lips, the sweet taste of strawberries and cream mingling in their kiss. When the kiss ended, Eldarion resisted the urge to toss the bowls of food off the bed. There was a fatigue in Legolas’s clear blue eyes that he had not seen before and the Prince knew that there would be no more play tonight. Instead, the two lovers lay down with the bowls of strawberries and cream between them. 

“I will be heading one of the scouting teams tomorrow,” Legolas said, dipping a fresh strawberry into the cream and placing it in his mouth.

“Yes, I know,” the Man replied.

“Will you join me?”

Eldarion took a bite out of a particularly large strawberry and chewed it thoughtfully before answering. 

“I was certain that you would ask me,” he began, then stopped abruptly. “I hope you do not mind,” he began again, turning to face the Prince, “but I have already agreed to join Orophin’s team.” 

“I suspected that you would join another team,” Legolas replied, then raised a questioning eyebrow, “but Orophin’s team?” 

Eldarion chuckled. 

“I am also a little surprised,” he admitted. “But he approached our table tonight during dinner and asked us so sincerely . . .” The Man trailed off and shrugged. “I could not refuse him,” he said simply. 

“And is that the only reason?” 

The Prince shook his head. 

“Why do you ask questions you already seem to know the answer to? Indeed, why do we bother speaking at all when you are able to read my mind?” 

“Because I enjoy hearing the sound of your voice,” the Elf replied, grasping the Man’s wrist as he was about to place another cream-dipped strawberry into his mouth. Legolas pulled the wrist towards him and allowed Eldarion to feed him the strawberry, taking the time to sensually suck the Man’s fingers and lick any remaining cream. 

“You can be such a cruel tease,” Eldarion whispered, wondering how Legolas could make the simple act of eating strawberries so erotic. 

“I am no tease,” the Elven Prince replied as the Man fed him another strawberry and he once again caught the firm wrist, placing the moist fingers into his mouth. “For a tease,” the Elf continued, slowly sucking the fingers one by one, “is just that. And do I not reward your patience in the end?” 

“Yes,” the Prince agreed. “But a reward is given for something that has been earned,” he continued mischievously.

“Very true.”

“What then, have I done to warrant these attentions?” He fed the Elf another strawberry, enjoying the feel of Legolas’s tongue as it wrapped around his fingers, mimicking the actions it often lavished on another part of his body, where heat was pooling now. 

“I am rewarding you,” the Elf said, “for your maturity.” 

“Maturity?” Eldarion repeated in an amused tone. 

“Yes.” Legolas turned to face the Prince and quickly dipped another strawberry into the cream, placing it in his mouth before his hand trailed down the Man’s chest, stopping at the growing bulge in between the Prince’s legs. He gave it a slight squeeze. 

Eldarion let out a moan and rolled onto his back. Legolas smiled and propped his head with his free hand in order to get a better look at the expressions of pleasure that crossed his lover’s face. 

“I am impressed,” the Elf continued, “that you have agreed to work with Orophin tomorrow, despite your feelings towards him. Not to mention your recent encounter with his brother.”

“Those matters are unimportant now,” the Prince sighed as Legolas’s hand continued to massage his hardening arousal. His pants would soon become uncomfortably tight. 

“They are worth bearing in mind,” Legolas said seriously. “I trust you not to do anything foolish or rash tomorrow.” 

Eldarion turned his head to meet the Elf’s gaze.

“I will not,” he said solemnly. 

“Good.”

Legolas lifted the two bowls and placed them on the bedside table. The fatigue Eldarion had seen in the Elf’s eyes had disappeared and when Legolas returned his attentions to the Prince, Eldarion was once again reminded of the remarkable stamina of the Elves.


	5. I Rui anin Gaurhoth

The following morning, the inhabitants of Caras Galadhon set about their business even earlier than usual, and a grim determination could be felt in the air. Breakfast had been quick and efficient, with less talk and chatter filling the Elven hall than Eldarion was used to. After the meal, he and Legolas had returned to their room to pick up their belongings before setting out to meet the other trackers. The Prince stood now, looking out of a window in the room. Below him, he could see a host of Elves gathered by the fountain on the large lawn. Haldir was addressing them, and after a while, about half of the Elves left the clearing, headed towards the city’s main gates. The Prince knew that these Elves had been assigned to guard the ships at the hythe and that they were on their way there now.

“Legolas,” he said, turning around. “We should go.”

The Elf nodded his head in agreement, strapping his leather braces onto his forearms. He picked up the two sets of bows and quivers that lay on the bed, handing one of them to Eldarion. It was a present he had given the Prince while they had been in Minas Tirith, and it had served the Man well. He watched as Eldarion securely fastened the bow and quiver onto his back and the Elf did the same. As the Man moved towards the door, Legolas placed a hand on his arm to stop him. The Prince looked at him questioningly. The Elf bent down and removed a slim leather sheath that was shaped like a small knife, from the inside of his boot. He held it out to Eldarion.

“Here,” he said. “I want you to take this.” 

Eldarion accepted the sheath and removed the jewel-encrusted dagger from its case. Then he shook his head.

“This is yours,” he said, attempting to return the dagger, but Legolas would not take it back. 

“I want you to have it,” the Elf insisted. “I will not be there with you today. Indeed, I may not see you for many days. At least, not until the hunt has ended. Take it,” he said again. “You may need it.” 

Eldarion looked into the Elf’s eyes and saw the concern in their blue depths. He slid the dagger into its leather case before speaking again.

“If you want me to be part of your team,” he said slowly, “I will come with you. I’m sure that Orophin could easily find a replacement for me.” 

To his surprise, the Elf shook his head.

“You must do what you think is right,” Legolas answered. “I would never inhibit your decisions. While I confess that I would be comforted to have you with me, being by my side does not guarantee your safety.” 

“Very well,” Eldarion nodded. He bent down and tucked the dagger into the inside of his boot as he had seen Legolas do. The dagger was secure and well concealed against his ankle. When he stood up, he found himself swept into the Elf’s arms.

“Be safe,” Legolas whispered, resting his forehead against the Man’s.

“I will,” the Prince replied, tilting his head to catch the Elf’s lips in a kiss.

For a few moments, the two lovers stood in the middle of the room in a lingering embrace, until Legolas finally released the Man with a warm smile. The Prince felt a stab in his heart at the realization that he may not see that smile for several days, or the possibility that he may never see that smile again. Suddenly, he was filled with a burning desire to be part of Legolas’s team. Legolas was studying him carefully and the Man began to wonder if the Elf could truly read his thoughts. He met the Elf’s firm gaze with one of his own and smiled reassuringly. Of course, he would see Legolas again. This was only a tracking expedition. They were not embarking upon a war. Grasping the Elf’s hand and giving it a slight squeeze, he led them out of their chambers.

~*~*~*~

On the wide lawn, Eldarion caught sight of Hrethil and Narwarán and moved to join them. They were standing with another Elf whom the Prince guessed would be the fifth member of Orophin’s team.

“Good morning, Eldarion,” Narwarán greeted him. “This is Aglar. He will be joining us.” 

The Prince shook Aglar’s hand, but did not have time to properly greet the Elf as Orophin suddenly appeared. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rúmil pass by their party on his way to join his own team. The Elf cast a look of unconcealed contempt at the group and did not stop to greet them. Eldarion shook his head, thankful that he would not be seeing Rúmil for a little while. 

“We shall be leaving shortly,” Orophin said. “Have the introductions been made?” he asked, looking at Aglar and Eldarion inquiringly.

“Only just,” the Man replied.

“Good. There will be time enough to get to know one another later. We are just waiting for my brother to give us any final instructions.” 

“Will Haldir be leading his own team?” Eldarion asked him. 

“Not if Legolas has anything to say about the matter,” Orophin said, inclining his head in the direction of the two Elves. Haldir and Legolas were standing a little apart from the other groups and from what Eldarion could see, appeared to be engaged in a heated conversation.

Well, heated for Elves, the Prince thought, revising his original assessment. Legolas was gesturing with his hands to emphasize his point and the Guardian was adamantly shaking his head in return. Finally, some sort of resolution was achieved and the two Elves headed towards the main gathering. Legolas stopped by his own team and greeted them. Scanning the Elvish faces, Eldarion recognized two of them. There was Immacar and Mordúlin, whom the Prince knew to be both highly accomplished trackers and scouts. However, the third Elf was a complete stranger to him. Still, the Man relaxed, knowing that his lover would have tested warriors and scouts accompanying him, not to mention the ever-faithful Dwarf. Haldir had also made his way to the small dais and now stood ready to address the crowd. 

“My friends,” he called, as the chatter died away and the Elves focused their attention on the Guardian. “I wish you all the best today. May fortune favor you and may you find swift answers to our questions. If some teams choose not to return to the city by nightfall, you must send one of your scouts back to inform us of your whereabouts and your intentions. I myself, will not be leading a team today,” Haldir said, casting a significant look at the Greenwood Prince, “for I have come to the decision that it would be wise for me stay behind and direct our efforts from here.” He paused briefly. “Go now,” he said, “and let your actions be ruled by wisdom and not by the sword.” 

With a final salute to the Guardian, the gathering dispersed and Eldarion was swept by the crowd of Elves towards the city’s main gates. Once outside the Elven city, the Man caught his lover’s eye one last time before Legolas’s team headed towards the northern border of Lothlórien. The Elven Prince waved in farewell, his shining hair a wisp of gold as it blended into the fair wood. 

With a sigh Eldarion turned to his own team, who were already several paces ahead of him. He jogged to catch up with them and quickly fell into step behind Narwarán. In the lead, Orophin set a brisk pace and behind him there was no idle chatter or conversation. They walked in single file along the smooth woodland path. Eldarion found the silence and stillness of the forest engulfing. No breeze blew through the trees and the soundless footsteps of his Elven companions left no mark upon the trail. The Prince could not help but feel relieved when he finally heard the trill of a distant bird. 

It was not long before they reached the fast-flowing Celebrant and the company passed over the bridge that Narwarán had constructed. Orophin did not pause to rest as they had done two days before, when Hrethil had lead them on their excursion to Nimrodel. They continued onwards, veering from the path that would have taken them directly to the falls. Instead, they traveled on a parallel trail, and through the patches in the woods, Eldarion could glimpse snatches of the stream as it flowed gently on their left. As they traveled deeper, the sweet voice of Nimrodel reached their ears and lightened their hearts. Even Orophin’s serious mood lifted a little and he stopped when they came a small clearing. 

“We are not far from the site of the attack,” he said. “We should rest here and have something to eat. It is almost noon. There will be much to do afterwards,” he added, sitting down and stretching his legs. 

The group followed suit and soon they were all seated comfortably, enjoying the various fruits that they had brought with them. Hrethil had quickly engaged Narwarán and Aglar in conversation. Not wishing to intrude, the Prince turned to Orophin for company. The Elf smiled as the Man approached, motioning for Eldarion to join him. There was an awkward silence for a moment as each tried to think of something to say. Finally, the Prince spoke.

“It is good to hear the voice of Nimrodel again, however distant it may be.” 

“Aye,” the Elf agreed. “Her singing comforts me as well. Have you grown so fond of our fair falls?” 

“I fear I have,” Eldarion admitted. “From only one visit, I have managed to retain such unforgettable memories.” The Man suddenly flushed at his words, momentarily forgetting his encounter with Orophin’s brother. While that was also an ‘unforgettable’ memory, the Prince did not have that particular incident in mind. Rather, he had been thinking about his revealing ‘conversation’ with Legolas the following day. 

“What I meant by that,” he quickly added, trying to cover his discomfort and not noticing Orophin’s amused smile, “is that the woods were unnaturally silent today during our march. It perturbed me and I was relieved to hear Nimrodel singing. It made me feel that the woods were still alive.” 

“The woods are always alive,” Orophin answered. “Life is never silent.” 

The Man did not seem to understand this comment and so Orophin continued. 

“Silence to you,” he explained, “is the absence of sound. That is what you meant when you said that the woods were ‘unnaturally silent.’” 

Eldarion nodded in agreement. 

“That is not what silence is to us,” Orophin said. “Indeed, silence is a rare thing in our lives, for we are bound to the song of Ilúvatar, as are the _hadhodrim_ [2], in their own way. You are a man and therefore, are able to act independently of the Song.” 

“What do you mean by the 'Song?’” Eldarion asked, intrigued by the subject that he had inadvertently brought up. 

“The song of Ilúvatar is what binds us to all life. Through it we are able to hear the speech of the trees, the whispers of the rocks, the gurgling of a brook. It gives us abilities and perceptions that the _firiath_ [3] do not share. It is what you would call ‘Elven senses.’ That is why we are able to reach out over great distances, to see and hear what happens in other places, as the Song is being sung there. I understand,” Orophin said after a pause, “that you have exceptional senses for a Man.” 

“My eyesight and hearing are keener than that of my people,” the Prince admitted, “but my abilities are limited when compared to the Eldar. And I certainly do not know of the song of which you speak.” 

“That is perhaps for the best,” the Elf answered. “I understand now that the song of Ilúvatar can be seen as both a blessing and a curse. For while the song remains, so do my people. But as it diminishes, my people also fade. And that, young Prince, is why the time of Man has come upon us.” 

Eldarion nodded thoughtfully. He had learned a great deal from this conversation, increasing the respect he held for the Eldar. It was no wonder then, that the fair folk were known as the Firstborn. Then he smiled ruefully. 

“Perhaps that is why men chatter so much,” he said aloud, voicing his inner thoughts. “We feel the need for sound and choose to create it instead of listening to nature. By contrast, the Elves in their silent reflection are never alone.” 

“Well said!” Orophin laughed. 

“It is ironic,” Eldarion commented. 

“You will find that many things in life are,” the Elf answered, rising to his feet. He held out a hand to assist the Prince, which Eldarion gladly accepted. 

“It is time to move on,” Orophin said to the others. He gave the Prince a small approving smile before setting off into the woods once again. The rest of the company picked up their weapons and small packs, purposefully following their Captain. 

The light-hearted mood that had been generated at the clearing died away as the team approached the site of the attack. Here, near the edge of the wood, the wind, which had not lifted her head to so much as rustle the leaves of the trees, suddenly blew forcefully around them. Eldarion observed that the mallorn trees had lost their customary silver sheen and their bark appeared dull and gray. He reached out his hand to touch the gray bark and was surprised to feel the heat that emanated from the tree. He pulled back his hand in astonishment. 

“We can feel their pain,” Hrethil said sadly, touching the Man on the elbow and motioning for Eldarion to keep moving. “We shall tend to them later.” 

The Prince nodded and followed his friend, wondering what the song of Ilúvatar was communicating to his Elven companions. Even with his ordinary mortal senses, communing with nature would bring him pain. What more for those bound to life itself? 

Orophin stopped suddenly and held up his hand for silence. With a quick gesture, he motioned for his team to take to the trees. Swiftly and silently, the company leaped into the trees nearest them and climbed their strong branches until they were some distance from the ground and were able to observe the woodland floor below. Eldarion was grateful for his penchant to climb trees as he perched on a branch, with Hrethil on the other side of the same tree. They both held drawn bows and were ready to fire. 

Long moments passed as the company waited tensely in the trees. Just when Eldarion thought that whatever Orophin had sensed had passed them by, a child appeared on the ground below. The Man blinked to make sure that his eyes were not deceiving them. No, the child was definitely real. It was a girl, perhaps no more than eight years old. She had dark brown hair that fell to her shoulders and she was dressed in a simple brown smock. _What is she doing here?_ the Prince thought to himself in amazement. He looked at Hrethil, hoping to ask his friend the same question, but the Elf’s attention was focused solely on the child beneath them. His face wore a grim expression and it seemed to Eldarion that Hrethil’s grip on his bow had tightened. Concern mounted in the Man as he realized that the Elf was prepared to fire. A quick glance around him determined that the other Elves also had their arrows aimed at the helpless child, though no movement was perceptible in the trees. 

Confusion swept through the Prince as he watched the scene below him. Before he had time to fully grasp the situation, a woman appeared. Her hair was of the same dark brown color and texture as the girl, though it was unkempt and blew wildly about her, and her clothes were also of the same style and cut. She spoke to the girl in a harsh language that Eldarion could not understand, grabbing the child roughly as she did so. She shook the girl fiercely as she bent down and admonished the child, her language crude and guttural to the Prince’s ears. Suddenly, she stopped and stood up straight. Her back was to the Prince and he watched as she lifted her head up in a strange manner, almost canine-like, and appeared to sniff the air. Then she turned around, slowly surveying the woods, and Eldarion caught her eyes. What he saw sent a shiver through his body. In her unnatural yellow eyes, there glowed a dreadful wrath and the Prince knew beyond a doubt that she and her child were servants of darkness. 

Satisfied that there was nothing amiss, the woman grabbed the child’s hand and pulled her away, quickly walking in the direction of the edge of the wood. Orophin signaled to the others that they were to follow, soundlessly treading a path through the thick, intertwining branches of the trees. Narwarán and Aglar did the same, but Hrethil paused and looked at the Prince before standing up. 

“Can you walk this path?” the Elf whispered with concern. 

Eldarion nodded. 

“Not as skillfully or as swiftly as you,” he said. “But I shall manage.” 

The answer seemed to satisfy the Elf and Hrethil nodded in return, turning around and following Orophin and the others through the trees. With a deep breath, Eldarion stood up and surveyed the trees around him as he had seen the woman do. Their company was clearly alone and the Prince wondered how the other teams were faring. How was Legolas faring? He banished these thoughts from his mind, thankful for the girth and strength of the mallorn trees as he began to thread his way through them. He was of a heavier and wider build than the Elves, but he knew that the great trees could easily support his weight. The trick was ensuring that he did not slip and break his neck.

~*~*~*~

The group tracked the woman and her child from a distance until they reached the edge of the Golden Wood. Here Orophin stopped, though his eyes never left the retreating forms of the two figures. They walked across the high grass towards the shadowy passes of the Misty Mountains.

“Should we follow them?” Aglar said to Orophin. 

The Captain shook his head.

“No,” he replied, his sharp eyes still fixed on the two figures. “I suspect that they will return and they will bring more of their kind with them. We will be prepared for that. But until then, we should return to the site of the attack and examine it more carefully. Perhaps there were clues that my patrol and I missed in our haste yesterday afternoon.” 

The team waited until the woman and her child were a fair distance from the wood, though their keen Elven eyes could easily make out the dirt stains on their clothes and the waving motion of the child’s hand as she brushed the tips of the high undulating grass. At last, Orophin turned from the sight and made his way back. Not wishing to disturb the tracks that the strangers had left upon the earth, the company traveled through the trees again. Orophin lead them through a different path and it was not long before they came to the site of the _gaurhoths_ ’ attack. 

It was a small clearing, not unlike the one the company had rested and had their lunch. Arrows were scattered haphazardly into some of the trunks of the trees. They were not concentrated in any particular area, as though the patrol had not known which direction to fire and had taken a broad defensive response to the surprise attack. Orophin held up his hand again and the team became as still as the trees they were in. Silently, the Elf drew his bow, signaling to the others that there was another presence in the clearing. For a moment, all seemed at a standstill. Then Orophin let out a low bird-like whistle and a few seconds later, a similar whistle answered his call. The Elf relaxed and dropped lightly out of his tree, with Narwarán, Aglar and Hrethil not far behind. They walked to the middle of the clearing. From the far side, Eldarion saw another team of Elves drop from their hidden perches and enter the field. 

“What brings you here, brother?” Orophin called out. 

“Tracks,” Rúmil replied, as he greeted his brother with a firm warrior’s handshake at the center of the clearing. “We found fresh tracks of a she-wolf and they lead us here. We saw this wolf-woman briefly. She had deep brown hair and those unnatural yellow eyes. She appeared to be searching for something, though we could not discern what. We were careless in our pursuit and she was able to evade us.” 

“We have also seen this woman of which you speak,” Orophin said seriously. “She was searching for her child. My team followed her and the child to the border of the wood. They were headed in the direction of the Misty Mountains.” 

“The Misty Mountains,” Rúmil repeated in disgust. “That is not surprising. There are few places on Middle-earth that servants of the Dark Lord can still find refuge. Why did you not follow them?” 

“There was no need,” Orophin said. “They will be back, of that I am certain. It is fortunate that our teams have run into each other. There is strength in numbers. It was my idea to return here, in the hopes of discovering some new information that I may have missed yesterday.” 

Rúmil shook his head. 

“The site has remained untouched,” he answered. “We have gone over it carefully. There is nothing more to be found. With the exception of the she-wolf, who did not linger here, there have been no other visitors to the area.” He cocked his head to his right. “Do you have a plan, brother?” 

“I do.” 

The Elves had gathered around their two captains, paying close attention to the brothers’ discussion, knowing that their decision would concern them all.

“I would like to set a trap for the _gaurhoth_ when they return,” Orophin explained. “If we are to fight them, I would prefer to do so in our own surroundings, where we have the advantage.” Around him, the Elves nodded and murmured in agreement. 

“I concur,” Rúmil said slowly, “but any trap requires some sort of bait.” 

“Perhaps,” Orophin said, regarding his brother uneasily. 

“Nay, not perhaps,” Rúmil said sternly. “It is a necessity. If you truly wish to trap the _gaurhoth_ , we must first find a suitable place to set the trap. I already have one in mind. But in order for the trap to be successful, we must have a bait to lure the _gaurhoth_ there.” 

“What would we use for bait?” Aglar spoke up. 

“Why, one of us,” Rúmil said lightly, but his gaze fell directly on the only Man in their group. Eldarion met the Elf's gaze defiantly, not flinching for a moment. “It is only logical,” Rúmil continued, “since the _gaurhoth_ appear to be after victims for their Maker’s dark arts. A seemingly unguarded and isolated person would quickly attract their interest.” 

Orophin could feel the anger rising in him at his brother’s insinuation, but he held it in check, glowing darkly at Rúmil as the elder Elf elaborated his intentions. 

“As for somewhere to set the trap,” Rúmil went on, “there is a dell, close to the border of Lothlórien, that would be an ideal place for our ‘bait’ to pass the time. On one side of the dell is a rock face that will provide protection and shelter. The trees surrounding it are tall and dense, providing adequate cover for us to lie in wait and guard our friend.” Once again, Rúmil spared a glance at the Man, the sarcasm in his voice thinly veiled as he said his last word. 

“Do you also have someone in mind to act as ‘bait?’” Eldarion asked coldly. 

“Since you have brought it up,” the Elf answered in a lightly mocking voice. “I was thinking of _you_.” 

Before one of the Prince’s friends could protest, Rúmil held up a hand for silence. 

“I have my reasons for such a choice. Hear me out. The Prince is the only Man among us and is not as familiar with the Golden Wood as we are. Neither does he have the swiftness or dexterity that is required to fight among the trees, as we are accustomed to. It is in his best interest to remain upon the ground, where he is more comfortable with his weapons and where he may retain his bearings.” 

“Leaving him upon the ground makes him the most vulnerable to attack,” Hrethil said heatedly, coming to stand beside Eldarion. 

“That is precisely why he is called ‘bait,’” Rúmil said in reply, his eyes glinting with something akin to malice. 

“Eldarion has never dealt with the _gaurhoth_ before,” Narwarán added. Images of Rúmil's match with the Man were still fresh in his mind. 

“The Prince has shown his ability to adapt to unfamiliar situations,” Rúmil countered. “No doubt he will learn quickly. He is capable of handling himself.” The Elf walked to where Eldarion stood, until they were standing face-to-face. “What say you, Princeling?” he taunted in a low voice. “Will you be our bait?” 

_I trust you not to do anything foolish or rash tomorrow._

The Man met the Elf’s level gaze.

“Yes.” 

A look of triumph crossed Rúmil's face and he nodded. 

“No,” a voice spoke up. 

The Elf and Man turned to see Orophin approach them. 

“No, Eldarion,” Orophin said again. “You do not have to do this.” 

“I know,” the Prince replied. “But I have listened to your brother’s arguments and I cannot fault them. He is correct. I will better serve our efforts on the ground and would only be a hindrance in the trees.” 

“That may be so,” Orophin answered slowly, “but my brother left out the most important fact in his arguments, and that is you are no ordinary Man. You are the Crown Prince of Gondor and we would be grossly irresponsible in our duties should we let you put yourself in such danger.” 

“I understand all too well the call of duty,” Eldarion replied seriously, “which is why I shall not shirk from the one placed before me. I choose to remain upon the ground, and precisely because of who I am,” the Man added, “none of you can stop me.” 

Orophin looked at the Prince’s stern expression and knew that the Man would not be swayed.

“Very well,” he sighed, still disapproving of the Man’s decision. “However, it is far too dangerous to let you stay by yourself. I will accompany you.” 

Rúmil looked at his brother in surprise. He had not been expecting this. 

“No,” he protested. “That was not part of the plan.” 

“Plans can change,” Orophin snapped. “I would not allow one Elf to act as bait for these fierce creatures. I will most certainly not allow a Crown Prince to do so!” 

“Fine,” Rúmil said, dropping his voice. “But you do not have to be his companion.” 

Orophin laughed suddenly, startling everyone. 

“What is this?” he exclaimed, stepping closer to the other Elf. “Does my brother play at a double standard?” 

Rúmil fumed at his sibling’s words. “Though I often do not act like it,” he said warningly, “I am your senior in both age and rank. I will not allow you to do this.” 

The two brothers stood facing each other, oblivious to the amazed looks they were receiving from their companions. Never before had the other Elves seen Rúmil and Orophin act like this. Knowing that he was the cause of the disagreement, Eldarion remained at a loss of what to do as he stood in between the two Elves. 

“Do you at least concede that Eldarion cannot act as bait by himself?” Orophin asked impatiently. 

“Yes,” Rúmil replied testily. 

“Who then will you have accompany him?” 

The words flew out of Rúmil's mouth before he could stop them. 

“I will.” 

Rúmil watched as a look of shock crossed his brother’s face, undoubtedly mirroring the same expression that he bore. Gathering his wits about him, the Elf attempted to explain his decision. 

“From those of us here, no one has more experience with the _gaurhoth_ than I. This will balance out the Prince’s lack of experience. Furthermore,” he continued, “I am the most skilled in closer quarters combat, which will serve us well upon the ground. It appears that I am the logical choice.” 

He met Orophin’s eyes, marking the look of utter disbelief that still remained there. Glancing to his right, he noticed with some surprise that Eldarion’s reaction to this sudden development was one of complete calm. If the Man was uneasy or had been taken aback by his decision, he did not show it. Behind him, both Hrethil and Narwarán appeared to be at a loss for words. 

“Then it is settled,” the Prince spoke up, his commanding tone putting the issue to rest. The Elves present were distinctly reminded of the royal heritage that he brought to bear. “We should head to the dell that you spoke of, Rúmil. Will the _gaurhoth_ return by dusk?” 

“I expect so,” the Elf replied. “We will be ready for them. Come!” he called. “There is much to do.” 

With a wave of his hand, he set off in the direction that Orophin’s group had come from. Shaken from the unusual scene that had unfolded in front of them, the other Elves followed the senior Captain, unsure of what to make of the exchange they had witnessed. As they were about to enter the wood once more, Rúmil felt someone grip his arm and hold him back. He turned around in annoyance and met his brother’s steel gray eyes. 

“If this is another one of your tricks,” Orophin hissed. “I will not stand for it!”

Rúmil pulled his arm free defiantly.

“We are far beyond any tricks now,” he said darkly, stalking off into the dimming wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> 1\. I Rui anin Gaurhoth - The Hunt for the Werewolf Host  
> 2\. hadhodrim - Dwarves, as a race  
> 3\. firiath - mortal beings


	6. Traps and Ambushes

Legolas marked the stillness of the wood as he led his team towards Lothlórien’s northern border. It was a chilly, autumn day, though no wind blew through the branches of the trees. Arien was high in the sky, but the warmth from her rays did not reach the earth below. Behind him, he could hear the heavy footfalls of the Dwarf as they marched. The Elf was concerned that he had set an unmanageable pace for his short-legged friend, but the Dwarf had stubbornly insisted that they would not be delayed on his account. 

“Do not fall behind because of me,” Gimli had warned him. “I will manage just fine.” 

Legolas had known better than to argue, and quickly discovered that his friend was true to his word. The team progressed well and whenever the Elf’s keen hearing picked up the Dwarf’s slightly labored breathing, he would imperceptibly slow down the pace to allow Gimli some rest. If the other Elves noticed this, they did not comment on it. 

When the company reached the mighty Celebrant, they did not cross the river as some of the other teams had done. Instead, they continued their journey on the river’s eastern shore, taking them to the northernmost area of the wood. At noon, Legolas found a suitable place to have the midday meal, veering away from the well-worn track to a small, murmuring brook not far from their path. Gimli smiled approvingly as the Elf settled himself upon a high rock at the source of the stream. 

“I did not realize that you knew these woods so well, Master Elf,” he commented, sitting by the bank of the stream. 

“Did you think that the blind was leading the blind, Master Dwarf?” Legolas chided in return. 

“It would not have surprised me in the least,” Gimli retorted, taking a hearty bite out of his bread roll. “Did you really know that there was a brook near our path?” he asked suspiciously. 

“Why, of course!” the Elf laughed. “The woods told me so.” 

“Bah, the woods told you so,” Gimli grumbled. He dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand, but it did not prevent him from casting a furtive look at the great trees around him. He did not mean to be disrespectful. “What else have the woods told you?” he asked after a while. 

“They are fearful,” Legolas replied seriously. “They feel the unwelcome presence of dark forces and their unease grows stronger as we reach the border of the Golden Wood.” 

“I have felt it as well,” Immacar agreed, approaching the two friends. Legolas and Gimli watched as the raven-haired Elf seated himself by the bank next to the Dwarf. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you?” he asked them.

“Not at all,” Legolas assured him. “You are most welcome.” 

Turning his head to the left, Legolas nodded to the other two Elves in his company, Mordúlin and Maedlûth, who were resting by a broad mallorn tree, not far from their little group. The Elves returned the gesture with a friendly smile before resuming their quiet conversation. Satisfied that all was well, Legolas focused his clear blue eyes on Immacar. 

“What are your thoughts on our journey so far?” he asked. 

“Although it has passed without incident,” Immacar answered, “the stillness of the wood unsettles me,” he confessed. “It is like the calm before the storm, so to speak, as though nature waits with bated breath for something terrible to strike.” 

Legolas nodded thoughtfully, nibbling on a handful of berries.

“Aye,” the Dwarf agreed. “I have not your senses, but even I can tell when there is evil afoot. It is this waiting for evil to strike that I have no patience for,” he declared. “My people would meet it head-on, and deal the first blow if we could!”

“Dwarven diplomacy,” Legolas commented, his eyes twinkling as he shared a mischievous grin with the other Elf. Immacar merely laughed. 

“As a child, I was told that the height of the Dwarves was a measurement of how quickly they would lose their temper,” he informed them with a sage nod of his head. Now it was Legolas’s turn to laugh. 

“Then you had best watch what you say,” Gimli responded, automatically putting his arms on his hips, “lest you find out the truth of that statement.” The Dwarf’s words and actions were serious, but his kind eyes held mirth, reassuring both Elves that all was said in jest. 

“I have no wish to discover the truth of that statement,” Immacar replied. “For however short a Dwarf’s temper may be, it is more than compensated for by the might of his actions and the blow of his axe.” 

“And an Elf’s fair words are swift to soothe the injuries of the tongue,” Gimli said, returning to his meal with a satisfied smile. He liked Immacar best among the Elves in the company. Immacar was striking in appearance, with raven hair and violet eyes. There was something in his temperament and disposition that reminded the Dwarf of another warrior that he had become friends with. Indeed, if it were not for the Elf’s violet eyes, one would have thought that Immacar was the Elvish reincarnation of the Prince of Dol Amroth. 

Gimli had also discovered that Immacar and Legolas were quite close, having often hunted and tracked together in the past. During the long days of the Shadow, when few of the Lórien Elves ventured outside their land, Immacar had been one of the most intrepid scouts of the Golden Wood, bearing messages far and wide on behalf of the Lord and the Lady. For this reason, he was accustomed to the manners of the other races and was at ease among them. His travels had also made him fluent in the Common Tongue, and he spoke the language without a trace of his Sindarin accent. 

The lunch continued peacefully and for a while, the travelers were able to put aside the dangerous task at hand. Mordúlin and Maedlûth joined the group by the stream, wishing to relax their feet in the cool water before they set off again. At length, Legolas looked up at the sky and then turned towards his team. 

“My friends,” he said, “we must be on our way.” 

With a heavy sigh, the company stood up and gathered their belongings. There was work to do and soon they were walking on the path they had left. They did not travel far before Legolas halted and knelt down on one knee, studying the ground intently. 

“What is it?” Gimli asked, coming to stand beside his friend. 

“Tracks,” the Prince answered. 

“The _gaurhoth_?” Mordúlin questioned. 

“No,” Legolas grimaced. “They belong to a more familiar foe. Orcs.” 

Mordúlin stiffened. It had been many a moon since an Orc had dared to set foot in the Golden Wood. While there was no doubt that the foul creatures still existed on Middle-earth, they lived in small groups, scattered and divided in the shadowy recesses of the land. They were mere foot soldiers, disorganized and confused without a strong leader to guide them. Who then, could have gathered them together and given them the courage to enter the sacred realm of Lothlórien since the passing of the Shadow? 

Immacar followed the tracks for a short way, but quickly returned to the group. 

“There are more tracks up ahead,” he said with concern. “It appears that this band of Orcs met up with another band of their kind before continuing on their path. A quick estimate of their number would be about twenty-five to thirty.” 

“Then let us follow the path they walked,” Legolas said, “for these tracks are not even a day old. It appears that a greater evil than we anticipated descended upon Lothlórien last night, for more than the gaurhoth roamed these woods.” 

“First the _gaurhoth_ and now Orcs,” Gimli muttered as they went on their way. “Do you think that these dark creatures are in league with one another?” 

“It is a safe guess,” Legolas said, his swift steps following the bold trail that the Orcs had left behind. “The _gaurhoth_ require a Maker, and we all know that Orcs, when left to their own devices, are no more than cowardly minions. They need the strength of a powerful leader to unite them and give purpose to their actions. It is more than likely that the Maker is this person.” 

There was no more talk as the team silently retraced the tracks of the foul creatures, thoughtfully reflecting on their Captain’s words. The trail lead them to the border of the Golden Wood and continued along the wood’s inner perimeter. Every once in a while, a group of two or three Orcs would stray from the main pack and venture into the wood, but they would not scout far and their tracks soon converged with their comrades. 

Legolas remained puzzled and concerned by these tracks. No effort had been taken to conceal them and although orcs were not known for their stealth, these tracks were much too obvious, even for their kind. How was it possible that the border patrols had not seen nor heard these creatures pass during the night? Where had the border patrols been? Had the attack of the _gaurhoth_ left them in such disarray that all patrols had been recalled to Caras Galadhon? That seemed unlikely, but it was still possible. He remembered the heavily guarded main gate of the city when he and Eldarion had arrived the night before. Perhaps the patrols had been recalled to Caras Galadhon for safety purposes. On the other hand, if the patrols had remained in the area and had seen the orcs, why had they not engaged them in combat? Were they outnumbered, or had they chosen to observe their enemy’s actions instead, in order to gain some insight into their purposes? At any rate, these sightings should have been reported to Haldir at once. The Elf shook his head in consternation. There were too many questions left unanswered. 

Furthermore, there was the direction of the tracks themselves. From what Legolas could discern, the orcs were clearly mapping the perimeter of the wood’s northern border. But what was their objective? Were they planning an invasion or some sort of attack? How great were their numbers? Pausing to look to his left, the Elf scrutinized the forbidding Misty Mountains rising in the distance. 

Immacar came to stand beside him. “What it is it?” he asked quietly. 

“I fear that we are being lead astray,” Legolas replied thoughtfully, his keen eyes scanning the cragged rocks at the base of the mountain range. “These tracks may be a decoy to draw our attention away from where danger really lies.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

Legolas shook his head. “A feeling,” he answered simply. 

Immacar remained silent. He had journeyed with Legolas enough times to know that the Prince’s instincts were never wrong. He was about to follow the direction of the other Elf’s gaze when Legolas suddenly turned around, and in a movement too quick for the eye to follow, drew his bow and took aim at the trail in front of them. There was no time to take cover and without hesitation, Immacar followed suit, vaguely aware that the other Elves stood with their bows ready, the Dwarf with his axe drawn. A wisp of brown and gold moved in between the great trees, but all else remained still. 

“Halt!” Legolas called commandingly. “Who goes there?” 

“It is I, Tharlirod,” came the reply, as a brown-haired Elf stepped from the cover of the foliage onto the path on which Legolas’s team stood. The other Elves in Tharlirod’s team also emerged from their hiding places further down the path and made their way to the Greenwood Prince. 

Legolas relaxed and went to meet the other Captain. “You are far from your designated search area,” he said seriously as he greeted Tharlirod. 

“Yes,” the Elf agreed, “but we have been following these orc tracks for the better part of the afternoon. They have lead us here.” 

“What do you make of these tracks?” Legolas queried. 

“They are unusual, but systematic,” Tharlirod explained. “We noticed that they follow the inner perimeter of the wood. Every so often, a smaller group of about three or four orcs will delve deeper into the wood, but they never stray far and quickly return to the main band. The band that we were following converged with another band of orcs of approximately the same number and left the forest. We chose to continue following the tracks of the second band of orcs to see how far they went, to find out how much of the woods they had mapped.” 

“This second band,” Immacar interrupted, “are the tracks that we have been following?”

“Yes,” Tharlirod confirmed. “I confess,” he added, “that we are at a loss to explain their purpose.” 

“Oftentimes, when one is confused or uncertain, the most simple and obvious answer is the best,” Legolas said thoughtfully, more to himself than to the others present. The Prince’s gaze fell on the ground, where the orc prints were visibly embedded on the earthen floor. Then he looked up, his clear blue eyes glinting with newly acquired knowledge. “Take us to the site where the tracks converge,” he said. 

Tharlirod nodded, motioning for the others to follow him. He was somewhat relieved to have encountered Legolas’s team. He held the Greenwood Prince in high esteem and believed that the other Elf would know what to do with the strange trail. He lead them back the path his team had tread not too long ago. It was some distance around the perimeter of the wood and none failed to notice how the trees lost their natural luster and shimmer as they walked. 

“Legolas,” Gimli said softly. “What is wrong with the trees?” The Dwarf’s eyes roamed the ancient mallorns, disturbed at their forlorn sight.

“They are in pain,” Legolas answered tensely. “Some evil enchantment has fallen upon this part of the forest. I can feel it spreading throughout the northern border. No doubt the other patrols have encountered this change as well.” For a few moments he wondered how Eldarion was faring, but decided not to pursue that line of thought. His lover was in good hands, surrounded by loyal friends and an experienced Captain. 

“The site is up ahead,” Tharlirod called back and the two teams emerged into a clearing filled with orc tracks. 

Mordúlin involuntarily held his breath, the stench of the orcs still lingering in the area despite their passing the night before. Maedlûth crinkled his nose in distaste. 

“Even if the orcs had left no visible trace of their passing,” he said quietly to his friend, “their foul smell would undoubtedly have given them away.” 

Mordúlin nodded as he watched Legolas immediately begin surveying the area. “I wonder what he has planned?” he said, with a nod in the Prince’s direction.

“We will find out soon enough,” Maedlûth answered, walking to where Legolas now stood deep in conversation with Tharlirod, Immacar and the Dwarf. The remaining Elves were of the same mind and soon all were tightly grouped around the two Captains listening intently to their conversation.

“What should we do?” Tharlirod was asking.

“We will do what is expected of us and follow these tracks to their origin,” Legolas answered.

“Legolas,” Immacar interjected, “you have just finished telling us that you believe these creatures are setting a trap for us. Now you wish for us to walk straight into their clutches?”

“Dear friend,” Legolas answered, placing a comforting hand on the other Elf’s shoulder, “knowing that a trap awaits us is the first step in not getting caught.” He turned to the others who had now clustered around them. “We will spend the night here,” he announced. “Two of you will return to the city to inform Haldir of the tracks we have found.”

“These tracks,” he continued, “are unlike any we have encountered in the past. For although they are systematic in design, they were made as obvious as possible so that a blind man may follow them.” Legolas paused for a moment and then said strongly, “And follow them we shall, for though there is no mistaking their direction and the evil that is hidden within the Misty Mountains, it is the only lead available to us at this time. These tracks coupled with the _gaurhoth’s_ attack leave no doubt that a sorcerer of great power is harnessing these evil forces. We must find his lair.” 

A murmur of assent went through the small gathering and Legolas continued. “We will not walk blindly or defenseless,” he said. “I will ask Haldir to send reinforcements to us and they should arrive before noon tomorrow. We will head for the Misty Mountains while Arien is still high to minimize the threat of attack and see how we fare from there.” He paused again before saying thoughtfully, “I realize that this is far from a definitive plan, but it is the best we can do for the moment. In all likelihood, there will be a trap waiting for us and we must be at our most alert to avoid disaster. I fear that this a decoy for some greater plot, and if that is the case, we still cannot avoid it.” 

“Your words are true,” Gimli spoke up. “These foul creatures have made the first move and now it is our turn. We can do nothing but play this game out, and in the end, we will be victorious.” 

Legolas gave his stout friend a small smile, thankful for the Dwarf’s words of reassurance. Indeed, Gimli’s confidence radiated from him, infecting the others with his certainty. The meeting was dismissed on a purposeful note with Maedlûth and Lhunatar, a member of Tharlirod’s team, remaining behind to speak to their captains. It was decided that they, being the most fleet-footed among the Elves present, would return to Caras Galadhon and inform Haldir of their plans. The two Elves listened intently as Tharlirod gave them instructions, while Legolas set to writing a short note on a piece of parchment addressed to Haldir. When all was ready, the two scouts bowed briefly before the Greenwood Prince and then set off, quickly disappearing through the great forest. Legolas watched them go and a small sigh escaped him, his thoughts inadvertently returning to his young lover. He hoped Eldarion was safe. 

When he turned around, he noticed that Mordúlin was standing near him. “Is there something you wish to tell me?” he asked the Elf.

Mordúlin stepped forward. 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he began hesitantly, “but when you said that we would be spending the night here . . .” He paused. "You didn’t actually mean that we would be staying _here_?” he inquired, looking around the clearing. The smell of the orcs was positively suffocating him.

Legolas laughed. “Have no fear, Mordúlin,” he said. “We will climb high into the trees closer to the border of the wood where the stench can no longer offend our delicate senses.”

Mordúlin grinned sheepishly and nodded. “Very well,” he said, a distinct note of relief in his voice.

Beside the Prince, the Dwarf was grumbling. “Another night of sleeping in the blasted trees!”

~*~*~*~

In another part of the Golden Wood, near its northwestern border, two other teams had joined forces in an effort to combat their enemy. However, their plan was of an entirely different nature from the course of action that Legolas and his fellow scouts had decided upon. Instead of pursuing their foe into unknown territory, they had chosen to entice their adversary to come to them. After all, Rúmil reasoned to himself as the two companies trekked towards the designated dell, different opponents require different types of strategy. The _gaurhoth_ were not common orcs, whose strength came from their numbers. Werewolves were highly skilled and cunning creatures. Even a small pack would be difficult, but not impossible, to overcome.

Orophin’s plan was for the best, the senior Captain considered. If only his brother had not been so quick to volunteer himself as bait in an effort to protect that mortal. It was unlike Orophin to be so impulsive. Rash decisions belonged to his domain and he had, once again, lived up to expectations. A slight smile began to twitch at the corners of his mouth. He actually found the whole situation rather amusing and would’ve laughed out loud at their foolishness, had the circumstances not been so grave. 

Rúmil had always been one to appreciate a good joke or a clever trick, even if he was at the receiving end of it, which was a rare occurrence indeed. However, those rare instances inspired in him the terribly unbecoming desire for revenge, and that was why the Elf was certain that he would survive this encounter with the _gaurhoth_. He glanced over his shoulder at his fellow piece of bait, who was walking a few paces behind him. Of course, he thought, revenge may be a moot point if the Prince does not survive the night. The Elf’s mind clouded at the thought. As much as he disliked the Man, he could not allow that to happen. Perhaps some of his younger brother’s sense had rubbed off on him after all. He could not deny that Eldarion was the heir to the throne of Gondor, and the wrath of the King and Queen, the Evenstar of his people, was not something that he wished to face. Incomprehensibly, especially to himself, the Elf gave the Man the barest hint of a smile.

Eldarion caught Rúmil’s hesitant smile and did not return it. Though he could sense the sincerity behind the gesture and see the uncertain look in the Elf’s gray eyes, he remained unmoved. Since the dispute at the clearing, he had adopted an unreadable expression of calm that would have made Legolas proud. _Legolas!_ he suddenly thought with a start. When the Elf found out what he’d done, Eldarion dreaded to think of the consequences. What had he promised his lover the night before? That he would not do anything foolish or rash. Unfortunately, his current actions fell quite neatly into both categories. He shook his head. He would willingly be bait for a hundred _gaurhoth_ if only he were guaranteed to see Legolas in the end. 

Beside him, Hrethil walked dejectedly. The Elf’s normally light-hearted mood was dampened and his shoulders slumped uncharacteristically. The two friends had had their own argument not long after the party had left the clearing, and the Prince now regretted his harsh words. He knew that Hrethil had meant no offence and had only been concerned for his safety. But Eldarion’s stubborn streak refused to let him give in to his friend’s suggestion. Hrethil had brought up the point that someone would have to return to the city to report to Haldir the day’s events and their plans for the coming night. Why could Eldarion not be this person? For his part, the Prince had been appalled. He adamantly refused to back out of the plan now. To do so would be an act of cowardice, and to return to Caras Galadhon as though he were a burden on the company even worse. Hrethil had countered by arguing that it had been an act of foolishness that had goaded Eldarion into accepting this forsaken plan in the first place. At this point, the Prince had lost his composure and told his friend to return to Caras Galadhon himself since he was so concerned about the matter. Hrethil did not reply and no more was said, but a heavy silence hung between the two companions as they walked. Eldarion knew that he would have to make amends, but now was not the time. 

The Prince noticed that the group had slowed their step and he took a moment to examine his surroundings. They were very near the border of Lothlórien and if the Man gazed hard enough, he could just make out the Misty Mountains as they rose dimly in the east. The trees in this area had also lost their silver sheen and appeared forlorn and gray in the fading afternoon light. Eldarion wondered how far this evil spell had managed to penetrate into the Golden Wood. Thus far, it appeared to affect only the trees along the border paths, but the Man was certain that it would not take long for it to weave its magic deeper into the fair wood if its source were not found and stopped quickly. The Elves from Rúmil’s team, under the direction of their Captain, began fanning out to investigate the surrounding area. The Prince was shaken out of his thoughts as Narwarán came to speak to him. 

“We have reached the dell. It is a little to the right, down that path,” the Elf said, pointing in the direction of a small path in between the great mallorn trees. “Come,” he said, motioning for Eldarion to follow him. “The others will survey the area. You should see where you will be spending the night.” 

Eldarion followed Narwarán down the narrow trail into the dell. The site was larger than the Man had been expecting, but otherwise it was exactly as Rúmil had described. At the far end was a high rock face that rose approximately two hundred feet into the air. Its smooth surface made it slippery and impossible to climb as a means of escape, while its height ensured that no one would be able to jump from its top without causing injury to themselves. The surrounding trees were tall and broad, providing good cover for the Elves to lie in wait undetected. Eldarion stood in the center of the dell and looked around him. He suspected that the _gaurhoth_ would have to enter from the same path that he had just walked, as the underbrush and foliage at the base of the trees appeared to be too thick to penetrate. It would be advantageous to their party if that were the case, but one could never be certain, the Prince reminded himself, remembering that the creatures possessed extraordinary strength. 

“We will set-up camp over there,” a voice said to his left. 

Eldarion did not react to Rúmil’s sudden appearance by his side, though he was disconcerted to have been taken off his guard. _I must be more alert_ , he reprimanded himself, at the same time conceding that Rúmil was an Elf after all. The Captain was gesturing to the area at the base of the rock face that together with the encircling trees would allow their company to surround the _gaurhoth_ as the beasts entered the dell. 

Dusk was rapidly falling and it was not long before the Elves from Rúmil’s team returned from their scouting mission. After a quick word with the two captains, one of the Elves took his leave. Eldarion inadvertently looked at Hrethil, who was standing near the path. Apparently, someone had already been designated to return to Caras Galadhon and report their activities to Haldir. Hrethil was not looking in the Man’s direction and it appeared to the Prince that the Elf was studiously avoiding any eye contact with him. He sighed inwardly. 

As he looked away, he saw one of the Elves from Rúmil’s team approach him and wordlessly hand over two rabbits that the Elf had trapped. Dinner, the Prince presumed, as he accepted them with a nod of his head. The Elf bowed slightly in return before disappearing into the high branches of the trees as his companions had done. Eldarion turned around to see Rúmil building a fire by the campsite. Sharing a campsite with only Rúmil for company would probably be the most trying experience of the whole night, the Prince mused. Steeling himself for the events ahead, he strode determinedly to where the Elf sat. 

“Can you cook, Princeling?” Rúmil asked, without so much as looking up.

“Not with any great skill,” the Man admitted, “but skinning and roasting two rabbits is manageable.”

“Excellent,” the Elf replied. “Then I shall leave dinner to you.” 

Eldarion watched with raised eyebrows as Rúmil finished tending to the fire and then stretched out on his bedroll with his legs crossed, his head propped on a low-lying log and his hands clasped across his stomach. The Elf was completely relaxed. He had even closed his eyes. Had he forgotten their purpose for being there? The Man knew the answer to be a firm ‘no’‚ as he marked the bow and quiver by the Elf’s side and the keen long blade that hung from his waist. No doubt the blade’s sister was also within arm’s reach. Aware of the rabbits that he held in his hand, the Prince set about skinning and cooking the two carcasses.

Two hours later, Man and Elf sat on opposite sides of the fire eating the last remains of the roasted rabbits. Eldarion had thought that two rabbits would be too much for both of them, but had quickly discovered that he was famished and that Rúmil also possessed a hearty appetite. For some time now, the Prince had been living primarily on a die composed of Elvish waybread, fresh fruits and sweets. The smell of the roasted rabbit and its tender, juicy flesh had flared inside him the desire for the richer fare of Minas Tirith, perhaps even the heady meals found in Dwarven halls. What had Gimli said about smoked leg of lamb? And malt beer? The Prince smiled to himself. Could there be a more inappropriate time to daydream about food? However, that thought did not prevent his roaming eye from focusing on the last bit of rabbit leg being kept warm over the low-burning fire. 

“Would you like the last piece?” he asked the Elf out of politeness.

Rúmil shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I have had enough. Too much, I believe. The last piece should go to the cook for his admirable efforts.” 

Eldarion lifted the rabbit leg from the fire, saying as he did so, “My thanks, Rúmil. Your comment, if I am not mistaken, was dangerously close to a compliment.”

A small smile curved around the corners of the Elf’s delicate mouth. “Every healthy animosity requires some sort of repartee,” he answered. 

The Prince grinned in spite of himself as he settled on top of his bedroll once more. These were the first words that he and Rúmil had exchanged since the Elf had built the fire. The Man had presumed that the night would be spent in silence and the possibility did not bother him, since he was quite content to keep to himself. But if Rúmil was going to make an effort at civil conversation, then he would reciprocate. He took a bite out of the rabbit leg and began chewing the meat thoughtfully, his gaze drifting upwards to the branches of the trees around them.

“Do not look for them,” Rúmil said commandingly. Then he softened the tone of his voice. “You will not find them,” he explained. “I, myself, cannot see where they hide. If there are dark spies watching us, you would only draw attention to them by your actions.” 

Eldarion nodded, focusing instead on the rabbit’s leg in front of him. “Do you really believe that the _gaurhoth_ will come tonight?” he asked after awhile.

“Nothing is for certain,” the Elf sighed, “but it is a safe assumption. They have failed in their responsibilities to their Maker. He will send them out again to complete their task. We can feel his power as he casts his spell across the border of our wood. You have also seen the change in the trees and felt the stillness of nature.” 

The Prince nodded again. “But how will they know where to find us?”

“They will follow the scent of your roast rabbit, of course.”

Both of them laughed at the Elf’s joke, but at the back of their minds, they recognized the truth that lay at the heart of the statement. The cooking, the fire, the campsite, all were done to draw attention to themselves, to lead the _gaurhoth_ to them. When their laughter died away, Rúmil fixed the Prince under his piercing gaze before speaking again.

“You must never look a werewolf in the eye,” he said seriously. “The unnatural light that burns there will trap and mesmerize you. A few seconds off your guard is all they will need to destroy you. They are shape-shifters, like the Dark Lord himself, and they may come to us in the form of either Man or beast.” 

“Or woman and child,” the Prince added softly. 

“Yes,” the Elf agreed through gritted teeth. “Do not be deceived by their appearance. You must show them no mercy. The clean slice of your blade through their neck will swiftly kill them. Make no mistake, Eldarion. You have never encountered creatures such as these before.” 

The Man remained silent, listlessly picking at the last bits of his rabbit leg. He had lost his appetite thanks to the unpleasant talk about the _gaurhoth_. He felt that a change of topic was in order. 

“Why do you dislike me so?” 

It was a question that had been playing around the edges of the Prince’s mind, but surely he hadn’t just said it aloud. Had he? A quick glance at the Elf’s normally calm features now etched with surprise confirmed his worst suspicions. 

Rúmil composed himself quickly. 

“I could ask the same question of you, don’t you agree?” 

The Man let out an exasperated sigh.

“Why must Elves always answer a question with a question?” 

“Does that bother you?” 

Eldarion glared at the smirking Elf. “I am not an Elf,” he stated matter-of-factly. When Rúmil said nothing more, Eldarion continued. “I will not evade the subject at hand, as your kind is so adept at doing. To be honest, my attitude towards you is merely a reaction to your dislike of me. You raise the hackles on my self-defence mechanisms, and I do not understand your reasons for doing so. I have never done anything to cause you grief, and if I have, then it has occurred without my knowledge.” Eldarion stopped speaking abruptly, realizing how much he had just revealed and how easily he had done so. Where was this sudden confession coming from? 

The Elf looked at him impassively, giving no sign whether the Man’s words had affected him in any way. He returned Rúmil’s even gaze, schooling his features to reflect the Elf’s own bland indifference. For some time they sat opposite one another in perfect stillness, and the weight of the Man’s confession melted away like embers from the burning fire. Rúmil would not even acknowledge his words. The Prince should have expected as much. Still, he would not be the first to break his gaze. So intent was he on not losing this battle of wills that he did not realize that the Elf was speaking to him. Rúmil’s voice sounded distant, as though the Elf were speaking to him from a dream. 

“Is it not true that my people have treated you with respect and courtesy at all times?” Rúmil was asking him. 

“Yes,” the Prince answered, slightly confused by the question. “But some Elves have been less welcoming than others.” 

Rúmil chuckled. “And you believe that I fall into that category?” 

“Don’t you?” 

This time the Elf laughed out loud. Eldarion could not follow Rúmil’s line of reasoning, although he was certain that the Elf must have one. What was wrong with him tonight? First, there were the fantasies about lush meals, followed by his inexplicable confession, and now he couldn’t seem to focus on a simple conversation. It took him another few seconds to recognize that Rúmil was speaking once more. 

“Yes, I suppose I do,” the Elf conceded. “Do you know why the others are . . .” he trailed off, searching for the right word, “. . . uncomfortable . . . around you?” 

“It is because of my relationship with Legolas,” the Man answered simply. “They do not understand it and they disapprove of it. Some believe it to be folly on both our parts, others see it as nothing more than a passing fancy.” Eldarion shrugged. “It matters not to me.” 

“Why then, do you single me out from the others?” 

“Because you are different.” 

The Elf said nothing, but waited for the Man to continue. There was a momentary silence, as the Prince now searched for the right words. 

“You act as though I have offended you,” he began hesitantly, “as if my very presence offends you. You harbor some deep-rooted resentment against me that I cannot fathom. It leads me to sometimes wonder if it is me that upsets you so, or if I am somehow representative of something from your past. If that were the case, then you are not being fair. I should not be held responsible for events that happened before me, even if I may be a sad reminder of them.” 

“Even if I see the same folly being played before my eyes, only with deeper implications and richer resonance?” The Elf laughed bitterly, momentarily dropping his Elvish composure. He shook his head, knowing that he spoke in riddles, but now was not the time to enlighten the young Prince. “I have underestimated the depth of your sight. You are wise beyond your years, as Legolas likes to say. But we will not talk of this now. Survive this night, Princeling, and you shall earn my respect. Only then will I tell you what you wish to know.” 

With these words, the Captain drew the conversation to a close and stood up. “We should get what rest we can,” he said, his voice returning to its commanding tone. “I will take the first watch. We will keep watch in four-hour intervals. I shall wake you when it is your turn.” He gave the Man a curt nod before striding to the tall trees along the outer edges of the dell.

Eldarion lay down on his bedroll, his eyes following the retreating figure of the Elf. It was late. The cold night air blew around him as he drew his blanket over his shoulders. He did not think that sleep would come to him this night. Nevertheless, he closed his eyes and eventually drifted into a fitful rest, his broken dreams filled with snatches of laughing blue eyes and silky golden hair. Yet, in the corner of his mind, he saw another figure in the distance clad in silver and gray. This person’s face was hidden by the hood of his cloak, but Eldarion knew who it was. The figure watched them and the Prince did not mind. He could feel an immense sadness and longing emanating from this being and the Man found himself wondering, was there anything he could do to ease such pain?

~*~*~*~

Five hours later, Eldarion sat on a log at the base of the camp, his back to the high rock face and the resting form of Rúmil. The Captain’s watch had been uneventful as his was also proving to be. Although it was still dark, but the Prince knew that dawn would soon be approaching. His earlier tension and anxiety had left him, as the threat of attack faded with the coming dawn. It appeared that he would survive this night after all, and his thoughts returned to his conversation with Rúmil from the night before. Would the Elf really tell him what he wished to know? The Man did not doubt it and his curiosity burned with the desire to speak to Rúmil as soon as possible.

Suddenly, a sharp wind blew the remaining warmth from the embers of the fire. Eldarion stood up instinctively, his hand on the hilt of his sword. There was something in the air that reminded him of his time with Legolas by the bank of Nimrodel, when his lover had sensed the threat of oncoming danger. This same menace now enveloped them; the only difference was there would be nowhere to run. But that had never been their intention. The wind continued to blow, whipping the Prince’s dark hair across his eyes, which he brushed away with a quick sweep of his hand. He turned around to rouse the Elf, but Rúmil was already standing, bow in hand. He motioned for Eldarion to prepare himself, and the Prince also drew his bow, taking aim at the dark path that lead to the dell. He could see nothing, but he was acutely aware of the vicious rustling of the leaves and the moaning of the trees. His heartbeat quickened as his body prepared to fight. 

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the wind died away and all was still once more. The Prince tensely held his drawn bow as long seconds passed, turning into minutes, but nothing happened. Could they have been mistaken? Out of the corner of his eye, he stole a glance at the Captain. Rúmil remained focused on the path ahead, his expression cold and forbidding. 

Whatever doubts Eldarion had were dispelled as his attention was drawn back to the narrow path by the sound of a low growl. It was followed by a pair of fierce eyes and the Man watched with horrified fascination as a great hulking creature stepped out of the shadowy path into the dell. He avoided the glinting yellow eyes as Rúmil had instructed him, instead taking in the creature’s shape and form. It walked on all fours, but it was seven times greater in size and shape than any wolf he had ever seen. Its paws were large enough to crush a child’s skull, and its long black claws scratched the earth as it slowly circled the dell. Although shaped in canine form, the Man could almost discern the more human characteristics of the beast. Its chest was unusually broad, the powerful haunches leaving no doubt in the Prince’s mind that the beast could walk on its two legs should it choose to do so. Upright, he estimated that the creature would stand at least eight feet tall. 

For a moment, Eldarion felt paralyzed as he watched the _gaurhoth_ enter the dell one by one. Their steps were predatory and measured in their synchronicity. The Prince tried to recall Orophin’s report from the previous attack. How many had there been? The Captain had estimated five to seven. Four creatures stood in a semi-circle around the dell. Where were the other three? 

Eldarion had no time to think as the first creature nearest to his left rushed at him. Instantly, he released his arrow noticing how a second arrow from Rúmil’s bow flew by its side. The force of the two arrows hit the creature in the chest momentarily breaking its stride, but they did not stop him. With a snarl, it continued towards the Prince who had drawn and fired another arrow. Effortlessly, the werewolf batted the arrow away in mid-air. The creature was coming much too fast and would soon be on top of him. The Man did not have the Elves’ lightning reflexes, but he managed to strap his bow behind his back and draw his sword. To his right, Rúmil had already been engaged in combat by the creature nearest to him. Eldarion was vaguely aware of the arrows that rained down from the treetops. Some of their companions had already dropped to the forest floor to aid them. But they were too far away and the Man knew that he would have to face this creature alone. 

The Prince braced himself, as the werewolf rose on its two hind legs, preparing to lunge at him. Eight feet had been too tentative an estimate, Eldarion thought as the beast towered over him. Without waiting for the creature to leap, he charged the werewolf with his sword, stabbing it in the chest. With a fierce howl the beast staggered backwards but did not fall. Eldarion withdrew his sword and raised it again to strike, but before he could do so, the creature knocked him down with the full force of its weight as it fell on top of him. The Man lost the grip on his sword and it landed a few feet away from him. As the werewolf raised itself to strike again, Eldarion moved backwards to grab his sword, but the creature simply leaned over him and placed a great paw on the Man’s wrist, the immense pressure forcing Eldarion to release his weapon once more. 

The werewolf bared its teeth in delight at the Man’s helpless position, lifting its other paw, the black claws silhouetted in the remaining moonlight, ready for the kill. But before the werewolf could finish him off, an arrow pierced its exposed flank. The beast howled in pain, turning around in the direction of the shot. Out of the corner of his eye, the Prince could see Narwarán at the far end of the dell about to release another arrow. This momentary distraction was all Eldarion needed to reach down for Legolas’s jeweled dagger tucked neatly on the inside of his boot. In one smooth motion, he pulled the dagger from its sheath and drew the blade deeply along the length of the werewolf’s body, cleanly cutting the beast’s underside in half. The Man rolled away as the werewolf gave one last keening cry before falling to the ground. Its head landed sideways, facing Eldarion and the Prince found himself still mesmerized by the glinting yellow eyes as the fierce fire that burned with them dimmed until they were empty and lifeless. Eldarion became aware of his own rapid breathing as he tried to slow it down. He looked around him and discovered Orophin by his side, a look of concern on the Elf’s face as he leaned over the Man. 

“Are you hurt?” the Captain asked urgently. 

Eldarion shook his head. “No,” he answered. “Just a little bruised.” 

Orophin’s eyes quickly searched the Man for any injuries. Satisfied that Eldarion was indeed well, he smiled and reached out a hand to help the Prince up. Grasping the Elf’s strong forearm, Eldarion winced at the sudden spurt of pain that flared from his crushed wrist. Orophin looked at him darkly but gently took the Man’s wrist to examine it. 

“It is not broken,” the Captain said after a moment, a note of relief in his voice. “But the swelling will take several days to subside. I have some salve that I shall rub on it to keep it warm and then I’ll bind it. Try not to put too much pressure on it,” the Elf advised. “It will heal quicker.” 

“A sprained wrist is small payment for one’s first encounter with the _gaurhoth_ ,” a silky voice said behind them, as Orophin’s brother came to join them. The Elf was holding his arm and Eldarion could not help but notice that the gash he had inflicted had reopened and was bleeding again. This did not stop Rúmil from bending down to retrieve the Man’s sword and dagger, careful to hide his admiring glance at the slain beast at the Prince’s feet. “I believe these belong to you,” he said, returning the weapons to their owner. 

Eldarion nodded his thanks, sliding his sword into its scabbard with his left hand and cleaning the dagger on his breeches before returning it to its sheath. Orophin was rummaging in his small pack, presumably for the salve he had mentioned. The Prince took the time to survey the dell. The four creatures lay dead at different places. The two that had attacked both himself and Rúmil were near the rock face where they had set-up camp. The remaining werewolves had not made it to the center of the dell before being slain by their companions. The Elves did not look worse for wear. A few had minor cuts and bruises like Eldarion, although the Prince noticed that Hrethil and Narwarán were both tending to Aglar, who appeared to have a large gash in his left shoulder. Aside from this injury, they had survived the night relatively unscathed. Orophin’s plan had been a success. The Prince was starting to feel that he could now allow himself to relax when one of the Elves from Rúmil’s team cried out. 

As though an unnatural darkness befell them, yellow glinting eyes appeared around the dell from the underbrush that Eldarion had fervently hoped would be too thick to penetrate. He understood now that the first four creatures had merely been their bait to draw their companions out into the open. Who had laid the trap for whom? Ignoring the flashing pain in his wrist that was flaring into his arm, the Man withdrew his sword once more. The battle was not yet over. Beside him, Orophin and Rúmil had drawn their bows. The Elves at the outer edges of the dell were moving backwards toward their captains until they stood in their own semi-circle, their backs guarding one another. Hrethil had managed to find his way to the left of the Prince, the look in his eyes assuring Eldarion that all had been forgiven. To his right Orophin stood with his silver hair gleaming with the coming dawn. Eldarion was suddenly reminded of Legolas and how fiercely beautiful the Elf must have been in battle. Orophin, sensing that the Man was looking at him, turned to meet the Prince’s gaze. 

“ _Maetho norn_ [1],” he whispered. “ _Tôl acharn!_ [2]” 

“ _Gurth nan gaurhoth!_ [3]” another Elf cried as the werewolves charged. 

They were surrounded and outnumbered but Eldarion fought with the battle cry ringing in his ears. These creatures possessed superhuman strength and only a host of arrows could bring them down. In a matter of minutes, the Elves were relying on their agility and skill with the blade to defend themselves. Eldarion lost track of the limbs he had hacked off and the creatures he had run through with his sword. When he saw Hrethil fall, a cry remained strangled in his throat. He could not tell if his friend was injured or slain. As the Prince tried to make his way to his fallen companion, he was hit forcefully from behind and he stumbled and fell to the ground, quickly turning around in a defensive posture to block the creature that had struck him. But the werewolf’s quick reflexes evaded the Man’s attempt to strike him and the beast reached out with one enormous paw to lift Eldarion by the neck. 

The Prince flailed his legs as he was lifted off the ground, his left hand immediately trying to loosen the death-like grip that was choking him. With his sword in his right hand he tried to slice the creature’s chest, but it was no use. Held at arm’s length, he was too far away from the werewolf’s body to attack the beast effectively. Slowly the air was being drained from his lungs as asphyxiation overtook him, his consciousness was fading with his last breath. Then a burst of air reached his passageways as the werewolf suddenly released him. Eldarion fell to the ground with a thud, striking his head on a rock. Sharp stabs of pain erupted at the back of his skull, his whole body felt as though it had shattered into hundreds of pieces. He looked up to see Rúmil slicing the werewolf that had attacked him, cleaning severing the beast’s head from its shoulders with his long blade. And then nothing.

~*~*~*~

Immacar woke with a jolt. He had had a terrible dream filled with dark creatures entering and raiding the Golden Wood. Not since the days of the War of the Ring had Lothlórien been invaded in this manner. His beautiful city had been razed to the ground, the ancient mallorn trees burnt to ashes. The Elf shivered, vowing silently to himself that such a day would never come while he still lived on these shores. But the time of the Elves was ending. It had already ended. There would be no one to care for the woods once his people had gone. They would continue as they were, but without song and light, the trees themselves would slumber until only ghosts would haunt this hallowed place.

The raven-haired Elf had already taken his turn at watch, but his nightmare prevented him from returning to sleep. It does not matter, Immacar thought. The sun would rise within an hour or so. He would prefer to see the sunrise rather than fall into a restless sleep. Standing up and silently passing the snoring Dwarf, he made his way to the edge of the flet where his Captain stood as still as a statue. Legolas had also taken an early watch, but apparently his mind was too preoccupied with other matters to find much rest. 

The Captain greeted him with a brief nod when Immacar came to stand beside him, then immediately returned his attention to what he had been looking at before. Immacar followed the other Elf’s gaze and saw a strange red smoke rising in the distance. There was no doubt that it was coming from within the Golden Wood, along the far northwestern border. He rapidly turned to look at Legolas again, but this time the Prince did not meet his eyes, his attention remaining fixed in the distance. Wordlessly, Immacar also studied the unnatural red smoke, a pit seeming to open in his stomach. Something had happened. The Song had been silenced in that area of the wood, replaced by hushed whispers and cries of pain. The Elf knew with a terribly certainty that Orophin’s team had been sent to scout the northwestern trail.

~*~*~*~

Rúmil briefly knelt to inspect the Prince, but Eldarion was out cold, blood flowing from the wound at the back of his head. The Elf had no time to try and rouse him, nor tend to Hrethil who lay a few feet away as the battle was not over. In an instant the Captain was on his feet again, standing in front of the Man as his twin blades sung savagely and blood lust flowed through his veins. He had lost sight of his brother and his other Elven companions. Rúmil’s vision was filled with darkness, his hearing overpowered by the sound of growls and the cries of the trees. He knew that he would die protecting this Man that he had despised, and even in the heat of battle, the irony of the situation did not escape him. His own lips curled into a feral snarl as another creature rushed at him. The Elf had long since emptied his quiver but he held his ground as the werewolf approached. With a leap, the beast attacked, throwing the Captain to the ground. They grappled on the forest floor, Rúmil lashing out with whatever strength he had left. The werewolf was overpowering him and he heard his own voice scream in pain when the beast drove its claws through his thigh.

It was at that moment that a flash of red light blazed from the entrance of the dell. The _gaurhoth_ stopped their attack, their quarry already dead or too weak to put up any resistance and turned to face this newcomer. Even the beast that pinned Rúmil to the ground turned and bowed in what the Elf would have described as a reverential manner, were it not for the way the creature trembled. It is afraid, the Captain realized. Rúmil craned his neck to try and glimpse this strange being, but could see no more than shadow and an unnatural red fire that burned in the distance. When it spoke, its voice was deep and forbidding, reverberating around the dell. The language was foreign but strangely beautiful to the Elf’s ears. He could not understand it, but gathered that it was directing the _gaurhoth_ to do its bidding. The creatures began to leave the dell, carrying unconscious Elves upon their backs. Rúmil wanted to cry out when he saw Orophin being taken away, but his throat was dry. A werewolf came to collect Hrethil, but their leader stopped him. 

“Leave that one,” it said slowly, its voice changing timbre and cadence as it reverted to the Common Tongue. “He is too close to death and will be of no use to me.” 

The werewolf passed by Eldarion, not giving the Man a second glance. So, Rúmil thought to himself. They are only interested in Elves. Who then had been the bait on this cursed night?

The werewolf growled at the beast that held Rúmil as it made its way to the entrance of the dell. It was time to leave. Their Master had already vanished. The werewolf returned its attention to the Elf and Rúmil knew in his heart that he would be killed and not captured. No mercy, he told himself as the beast leaned over him, its fangs inches from the Elf’s face. In a swift movement, Rúmil had taken up one of his long blades that had fallen to the side during the struggle and stabbed the creature in the eye. The werewolf roared and shifted its weight onto its hind legs, its claws still embedded in the Elf’s flesh. Rúmil screamed in pain, the possibility of his leg being ripped off never more real to him. In a viscous stroke he drew the blade up again and severed the werewolf’s paw from its front leg, the claws still digging into his thigh. The beast retaliated by striking him with its other arm, dragging its long claws across Rúmil’s chest, ripping the fine Elven garment to pierce the alabaster flesh beneath. Then it lunged forward again, but the Captain had anticipated this move and brought his blade up to protect himself. The weight and velocity of the werewolf ensured that it fell upon the long knife, the blade driving straight through the creature’s heart. With a soft whimper it died, covering the Elf with its bloodied body.

~*~*~*~

When Eldarion came to, the first thought in his mind was _Hrethil!_ Concern flooded back to him together with his consciousness and he tried to sit up, but the throbbing ache which quickly spread throughout his head prevented him from doing so. Gingerly, he touched the back of his head and felt the sticky, wetness there. Blood. Running his hand over the wound, the Prince was relieved to find that it was not as deep as he had feared and the blood had stemmed its flow. With a groan he managed to lift himself to his elbows. Turning his head, he saw that Hrethil still lay to his left and that the Elf’s face had taken on a deathlike pallor. He was about to crawl to his friend when a voice stopped him.

“Eldarion!” it hissed. 

The Prince looked to his right and saw Rúmil pinned under the weight of an immense, dead werewolf. Glancing at Hrethil one last time, the Man crawled on all fours to the fallen Captain. 

“I thought you would never wake,” the Elf told him when Eldarion reached his side. “Help get this stinking beast off me!” 

Eldarion smiled. Despite the gravity of the situation, he found the Elf’s predicament rather amusing. “I don’t know, Rúmil,” he said slowly. “‘Tis not such a bad accessory.” 

The Elf glared at him for a moment, but then his lips curved into their own customary, mischievous grin. “It is good to know that you can still find the humor in this situation,” he answered in between pants as he and the Man both heaved the creature off the Captain. “There may be hope for you yet, Princeling.” 

Eldarion did not respond as he looked over the Elf. Rúmil’s clothes were drenched in blood, most of which had come from the werewolf. There were deep scratches on the Elf’s chest where the beast’s claws had torn his clothing, and there was a gash in his left side. The Man did not think that the Captain had been too seriously injured until he saw the severed paw and the three large claws jutting like stakes from the Elf’s thigh. They would have to be removed. 

Rúmil had managed to sit up and his eyes automatically fell on the werewolf paw that was causing him so much pain. 

“You have to pull them out,” he told Eldarion in a low voice. “And then we can bind the wound.” 

“You need medical attention,” the Man replied seriously. “As does Hrethil,” he added with a backwards glance at his friend’s immobile figure. 

“We will worry about that later,” the Elf answered. “First you have to pull out the claws.” 

Eldarion took a deep breath and scanned the surrounding area until his eyes landed on what he was hoping to find. Reaching a little way behind the Elf, he picked up a small, smooth piece of bark that had somehow managed to remain unstained with blood and handed it to the Captain. 

“Here,” he said. “You may want to bite down on this.” 

Rúmil looked as though the Man had offended him with the mere suggestion, but after looking at the claws as thick as daggers in his leg one last time, he accepted the bark silently. 

“Ready?” 

The Elf nodded, wrapping his hands around the top of his thigh tightly to provide support, while the Man held the lower half of his leg to prevent him from thrashing. Eldarion gripped the mutilated paw at its base, his injured wrist now swollen and an ugly shade of purple. This would hurt him too, but it would hurt Rúmil a great deal more. Not too long ago the thought of causing Rúmil pain would have brought a guilty smile to his face. But they shared something now. 

The Prince looked to the Elf for confirmation, and when Rúmil nodded his assent, Eldarion began to steadily pull the claws out. Rúmil’s face instantly contorted in pain and a long, anguished cry was muffled by the bark in his mouth. When at last the claws had been pulled free, the Elf heaved a sigh of relief and fell back against the ground. The Prince looked at the paw in disgust and threw it away. He placed his left hand over the gaping holes to stem the blood flow, eventually taking hold of the Captain’s hand to replace his own. 

“Hold this,” he instructed. “There may still be some packs and supplies scattered around the dell. I will look for them.” 

“Taking after your father in the healing arts, I see,” the Captain replied faintly. He was feeling lightheaded after the experience and the blood loss. 

“Don’t you dare pass out on me!” Eldarion warned, shaking the Elf a little too roughly. He was rewarded with a quick slap on his bruised wrist.

“I will do nothing of the sort!” Rúmil snapped. “Now go find those packs!” 

Relieved that the Elf still had fire in his spirit, the Man stood up and for the first time, was able to have a good look around the dell. Aside from the four werewolves they had slain during the first round of attack, there were another six lying dead around the dell. On any other night, ten werewolves would have been a good kill, but on this night, the price had been too high. Eldarion was reminded of this as he studiously averted his eyes from the mangled body of Aglar. Then the Man found what he was looking for – Orophin’s pack – discarded a few feet away. His own pack, as well as Rúmil’s, had miraculously remained untouched by their campsite. He picked these up as well and hurriedly went back to the Elf. 

Rúmil had drawn himself back up into a sitting position, his grey eyes more focused as he watched Eldarion bathe the wound from a flask of water and then pull out some clean bandages to tightly wrap it. 

“You’ll cut off the circulation,” the Elf couldn’t help but say, wincing as another knot was tied. 

“That is the point,” Eldarion replied. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.” 

“I’ll manage,” Rúmil muttered. Then he grabbed the Man’s arm with a force that surprised the Prince. “They’ve taken the others. You must go after them.” 

The Man looked at him as though he’d gone mad. Then he shook his head. “I can’t leave you like this.” 

But the Elf only gripped his arm more painfully. “Listen to me,” he ordered. “Haldir knows where we are. He will send Elves to come find us, but it will be several hours before they arrive. We cannot afford to wait. The trail grows cold. The _gaurhoth_ travel quickly and do not need cover of darkness. You must follow them and find their lair.” 

The Captain paused and the Man remained silent. 

“There are great forces at work here, Eldarion,” Rúmil went on quietly. “Evil which I thought had been destroyed has only been dormant as Legolas said.” He sighed. “The Maker was here last night. It was he who ended the battle.” 

The Prince’s head jerked up. “You saw him?” he said breathlessly. 

“Only from a distance. But I heard his voice. Beautiful but terrible it was, like the kings of old.” 

“What else did you glean?” 

There was hesitation in the Elf’s eyes, as though he feared to reveal too much. 

“You must tell me!” 

“What do you know of Harad?” Rúmil asked at last. 

“Very little,” the Man replied, “save that is lies to the south of Gondor. It is a desolate desert land and the customs of the their people are different from ours.” 

“The Dark Lord had many servants in Harad,” Rúmil continued, “and a few who mastered his Dark Arts. After Sauron’s defeat, the good people of Harad rose up against those who had been loyal to the Dark Lord. But not all were found. Some may still be living among them in secret, while others fled.” 

“You believe that the Maker is a servant of the Dark Lord from Harad?” 

“It is possible,” the Elf admitted. “We waste time hypothesizing. You must go now.” 

Eldarion agreed and after attending to his own injuries, he stood up. Within a matter of minutes the Man had refilled his quiver and retrieved his weapons. As he leaned over Hrethil to check on his friend, he spied among the cuts a pair of deep bite marks. 

“What can we do for him?” he asked the other Elf. 

“Werewolf bites are poisonous,” Rúmil answered sadly. “He is beyond our assistance. He needs stronger medicine. Perhaps Haldir will get here in time.” The Captain had added the last sentence to comfort the Man, but he did not have much hope. Eldarion cleaned and dressed the superficial wounds; finally slinging his pack around his back, ready to depart. 

“Take care, Princeling,” Rúmil said. “Do not try to take them on your own. Wait for the others or come back for assistance.” 

“You will see me again,” Eldarion replied. “We have a conversation to finish!” he called as he strode away. With his back to the Captain, the Man did not see the Elf smile as he left the dell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:   
> 1\. Maetho norn - Fight hard   
> 2\. Tôl acharn! - Vengeance comes!   
> 3\. Gurth nan gaurhoth! - Death to the werewolf-host!


End file.
